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The Passing of the Illini 
and Other Poems 



me 

Passing of the Illini 

and Other Poems 



“Ridgepoint Farm” 


BY 

W. W. Willeford 

GREENVILLE, ILL. 

....- 












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Copyright 1924 
by 

W. W. Willeford. 


Wornum Printery Inc,, Teutopolis, Illinois, 

DEC 20 74 

©Cl A814321 




si 





DEDICATED 

to 

Rector J. G. Wright and Professor 
Alex. Long, of Greenville, Illinois, 
each of whom have been helpful to 
me in this work and lenient with 
my imperfections. 


PREFACE 


I dislike to preface a book, as it seems to me, 
a preface is of the nature of an apology or ex¬ 
planation, neither of which is necessary in a 
meritorious work. However, as the merit of 
this work is doubtful, a preface may be allow¬ 
able. 

I offer this little volume of verse to my 
friends and the public who may read it, with 
serious doubt of its interest to them. 

The verses were written at my home, on the 
farm where I have resided for almost forty 
years and near my birthplace and boyhood 
home. 

I am a farmer, have always been a farmer 
and my sympathy, friendly interest and fellow¬ 
ship is with the agricultural people with whom 
I have passed my life and for whom I have al¬ 
ways labored. 

If they are pleased with these verses, I am 
satisfied. 


W. W. WlLLEFORD, 

Ridgepoint Farm. 


November 7th, 1924. 


Near Greenville, Illinois. 


FOREWORD 


My friends, I offer you this book— 

A part of pleasant hours spent, 

A part of life that God has lent 
Which I have used that you may look. 

Deal kindly with the one that wrote 

Those verses here that you may read; 
For it is a courageous deed— 

Or simple mind it may denote. 


WWW 






Jn. 
■ 


I ——i 
















































THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


At the base of “Starved Rock,” we boarded a stern- 
wheel boat for a trip up the river to 
“Horse Shoe Canyon.” 


And as the boat swept up the stream, 

So smoothly gliding-, like a dream, 

I thought of days long past; 

When the wild Indian’s bark canoe 
So silently and swiftly flew 
And his sad end at last. 

We passed the mouths’ of canyons where 
The redmen chased the wary deer; 

The cliffs, where eagles nest; 

The moss and lichen clung to rocks 
And dressed them thus, in bright green frocks, 
And hid their nakedness. 

The Autumn wind, waved flowering stem 
And sang a silent requiem 
To a brave nations death; 

The wild birds, nesting in the trees, 

Sing to their spirits on the breeze 

Where they drew their last breath. 


9 



10 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


When the exploring Frenchmen came 
And gave our State its present name 
And claimed this land for France, 
When they sailed up the “Illinois” 

In hope to Pagan rites destroy 
And true Religion plant— 


There stood a town, pitched on a sward 
Of prairie grass, looking toward 
The River deep and wide; 

With banks that glittered in the morn 
With dew upon the Indian’ corn 
That grew along the side. 


Across the river from the town 
Arose a cliff of great renown 
For here the warriors went 
To guard the town against surprise, 
When they an enemy surmised 
On bloody errand bent. 


Pligh up above the silent stream 
Where early morning sunlight’s gleam 
Threw its first rays athwart 
And where the shades of evening fell 
Across a dark and woody dell 
The suns last rays depart. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


11 


For centuries this rock has stood 
Proudly above a tangled wood 
And these first pioneers, 

Saw this bold landmark, of a race 
Uncivilized, and tried to place 
The love of God, and fear. 


Upon its top the forest trees 
Waved fitfully, as the light breeze 
Floated through space, above; 
Here dusky warriors sought a tryst 
With maidens fair and with a kiss 
Sealed their undying love. 


Plere sentrys stood, with earnest frown 
Gazed on the River, up and down 
For strange canoes afloat 
Upon the bosom of the stream 
That to his people did not seem 
A friendly trading boat. 


Guards, on this rocky citadel, 

Their enemies could long foretell 
And meet their sly approach 
With warriors, ready for a fray 
To drive the warlike clans away, 
Who near the town encroached. 


12 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLlNI 


Idyllic days; year after year 
The Illini lived safely here, 
Unquestioned and secure; 

In the arcadian forest, kept 
The Faith of children, easy slept, 
With none to them adjure. 


The World rolled on, they little recked 
The flight of Time nor its effect; 

The Seasons went and come; 

The early Missionaries found 
When five-score years had rolled around 
The same Illini home. 


But Destiny had marked the road 
That led to this peaceful abode, 

The end was drawing nigh; 

For enemies with bow and spear 
And deadly tomahawk was near, 
“DEATH” was their battle cry. 


Though peace-loving, their neighbors far 
And near, were clamoring for war, 

And in an evil hour, 

A brave,—who was of them a part, 
Stabbed a great chieftain to the heart 
And roused a tribal power. 




AND OTHER POEMS 


13 


For to avenge the chieftains death 
They would not draw a peaceful breath 
Each painted warrior swore 
Until the tribe of Ulini 
Who thus their honor did defy, 

Should live on earth no more. 


The Illini outnumbered, fought 
To save their lives and town, they sought 
To drive the invaders back; 

But foot by foot and step by step, 

The savage foemen forward crept, 

Their vigil never slack. 


Discouraged, beaten everywhere, 

They left the home to them most dear 
And fled unto the rock; 

Here, hopeful still they stood at bay 
To live or die the savage way, 

While they the foe would mock. 


Still on the warriors beaten track, 
The ghost of the great Pontiac, 
Silently kept a-pace; 

The remnant of this mighty tribe 
Climbed to the top and starving, died 
M his ghostly ukase, 


14 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


Wild yells of triumph, screams of fear, 
Fell on the murdering savage’ ear. 
Amid surrounding gloom; 

The tomahawk and arrow sped 
Among the warriors, till the dead 
O’erflowed their narrow tomb. 


Brave Illini! your tribe is gone, 

Your hunting grounds were tramped upon 
By those who conquered then; 

Your monument for aye will stand, 

We’ll ne’er forget you, in this land 
Where now dwell pale-faced men. 


Though you are dead, your name shall live 
In the great State whose name you give; 

Her citizens with joy, 

Allegiance own and glad relate 
There’s no place like the Prairie State— 

Our own dear ILLINOIS. 


The centuries may come and go, 

But still the tourist, here will show 
Where you made your last stand; 
And youth and age will drop a tear 
And mourn beside your silent bier 

That’s known throughout the land. 



AND OTHER POEMS 


15 


And when at last the trump shall sound 
And we shall rise above the ground, 

Naught will our souls annoy; 

We’ll be the same in God’s own sight, 

Amid the realms of endless light; 

ILLINI, — ILLINOIS. 

Written in remembrance of a pleasant outing pass¬ 
ed at “Starved Rock”, August 13, and 14, 1923. 


THE OLD HOME 

TIME changeth not; its steady measured pace 
Never accelerates, nor never slower moves; 

Tis WE that change with age, we go from place 
to place, 

Remembering our birth-place, with reverence 
and love. 

There is a picture—borne with us through 
life— 

Tis of a child, oft bare-foot, out at play; 

While round a trundle-bed our memory is rife 
Where mother knelt beside her child, to pray. 

Though gain attends our efforts where we go, 
In foreign lands, or in our native State, 

Our thoughts return to HOME and longing 
grow 

To see our friends again, before it is too late, 


16 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


EASTERTIDE 

The sun is shining brightly 
On the valley’s and the hill’s; 

In garden ingles blossoming 
Are yellow daffodil’s; 

The crocus’s with purple flowers 
Are scattered o’er the sward, 
Nature, directs our thoughts to God, 
Proclaims our risen Lord. 


TO MY MOTHER 

Today I am thinking of you, Mother, 

Though many years have flown 
Since you was called to God, Mother, 

And I was left, so alone. 

God called you, you could not stay, Mother, 
Though you loved your daughters and sons 
Who were left in a lonesome home, Mother, 
But He, cared for the motherless ones. 

My thought’s are often of you, Mother, 

But nevermore will I grieve, 

For God has given me hope, Mother, 

For my sins ? He has granted reprieve. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


17 


Swiftly the day is coming. Mother, 
When around His great white throne 
We will be united again, Mother, 
Mother! Dear Mother, my own. 


WOMAN 

When you speak of lovely woman 
In any way that’s light, 

You have an aberration, 

Your brain aint working right; 
God did his best in woman, 

(In man there is mistakes) 

His ideas are perfected 
When he a woman makes. 


A man without a woman 
Is careless all his life; 

The finest, truest manhood 
Is brought out by the wife. 
She loves her man with ardor, 
If he is great or small 
She glories in his triumph 
And weeps if he should fall 



18 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


In sympathy she’s perfect, 

In pity, she’s sublime, 

In duty and in honor 

You’ll find her all the time 
Far, far above her husband, 
You must remember, too, 
Your mother is a woman 
And suffered much for you. 


IRENE 

Her life is passed, her Father whispered come 
And gladly answering His loving call, 

She has ascended to her heavenly home 
A beautiful sweet memory to all. 

She loved all nature, her religious mind 
Believed the hand of God in all things good; 
To all things she was merciful and kind 

And did her best to live as Christians should. 

She loved the flowers that blossomed in the 
wood. 

She loved the wild birds nesting in the trees; 
Her heart was filled with sympathy and good, 
It was her wish, that all her acts would 
please. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


19 


A few short days, or weeks, or months, or 
years, 

Till we will meet again on that bright shore 
Where all is happiness, our pains and fears 
Will be forgotten and we’ll part no more. 

Where the descending sun, with ambient sheen 
Shines on a little mound of soft green sod 
That marks the resting place of dear Irene— 
Her body sleeps, her spirit is with God. 


THE COLLEGE AT GREENVILLE 

Conceived by men, whose greatest plea 
Was to advance the cause of Him 
Who suffered death on Calvary, 

That hearts of faithful friends would brim 
With love and hope and charity; 

And sanctify through Jesus’ blood, 

Their lives on earth, and through Him be, 
The ways and means of doing good. 

There is no life that human kind, 

Can consecrate to greater things 
Than opening the eyes of blind 

And give the joy that sight will bring; 

To teach His children that the path 
Of Righteousness, when traveled here, 

Is bordered with bright flowers that hath 
Aroma’s sweet to those that bear. 


20 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


Though piles of stone’ and mortar rise 
In more pretentious structures, where, 
They may be lauded to the skies 
As Educator’s, without peer— 

There is not one, with purer thought, 
Nor moral tendency, to teach 
The clean, pure life, that here is taught, 
To educate, those called to preach. 


OUR COUNTRY 


My Country, tis of thee we sing; 

We love thee best of anything— 

Except perhaps our wife and home 
And God above the starry dome; 

We love to sing, that we are free 
As anybody ought to be. 

Tis sad to tell, but sometimes we 
Forget just why our Country’s free; 

Forget that men have fought and died, 
Were on her altars crucified; 

That we might sing with joy and glee. 

Of our sweet land of liberty. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


21 


My Country; may you ever be 
The home and refuge of the free; 

May those, whose blood was freely shed, 
Be proud of thee, for which they bled; 
And may all other nations see, 

And sing—My Country, Tis Of Thee. 


THE DAUGHTERS OF 1812 

We may sing of the women of Europe, 

Of Germany, England, France, Spain, 
Whose “Forbears” were robbers with castles, 
Or Buccaneer’s sailing the Main: 

But the women by ancestry chosen 
Where critics of History delve— 

Are our own winsome matrons and maidens 
The Daughters of 1812 . 

Their forbears, were men of proud courage, 
And women who feared naught but God; 
Defying the power of Britain, 

They refused to pass under her rod. 

Though ragged and hungry, they firmly 
Refused better times for themselves 
’Till our land was made free for descendants, 
The Daughters of 1812 . 


22 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


0 proud is the blood that is flowing 
Through hearts that are tender and true 
Their ancestry proved to the Britain 

The strength of the Red, White and Blue 
We are proud of their battles and records, 
The books that honor our shelves 
Will tell of the Fathers and Mothers 
Of the Daughters of 1812. 


SUCCESS 

If a man would rise in this world of ours 
To a niche in the Hall of Fame, 

If he is known by his castles and towers 
And the people applaud his name— 

He’s obliged to labor and do things well; 

Improve what was done before, 

When a man does this, the people will tell 
His name in every door. 

When a man succeeds, the world is quick 
To applaud what he has done; 

The crowd will clamor, but all will pick 
The hero who has won; 

When he’s climbed the grade and reached the 
top, 

The people will confess 
Their regard for a man who would not stop 
Till he had won Success. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


23 


The road to success is never paved, 

It is rough, but the way is straight; 

There are pools by the way where the weak 
have laved 

In laziness while they wait. 

But those who arrive never wait by the way, 
The obstacles ever grow less, 

When a man has won, he can always stay, 

But nothing succeeds Success, 


THE FARMERS DREAM 

I dreamed of a beautiful valley 
With nothing to annoy; 

Where the soil is rich and therefore which 
To its owners a pleasure and joy; 

There the alfalfa is growing 

With four heavy crops a year; 

There the corn and wheat cannot be beat, 

The inhabitants filled with cheer. 

The acres there are producing 

As God intended they should; 

They are cleared of weeds and planted to seeds 
The farmers know are good. 

For miles you may see the waving 

Of the crops that are growing there; 

And the folks you meet ’tis a pleasure to greet 
For they are producing their share. 


24 THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 

In that valley all folks are happy, 

The golden rule they heed;' 

They do as they would that others should— 
Follow the Christians creed. 

They believe, as they pass onward 
Toward the common goal, 

They will here find rest when they do their 
best 

And with God, they trust their souls. 


THE COMMUNITY CLUB 

We all love our Country and love for our State, 
Is deeply impressed on our hearts; 

The love for our County is really as great 
As our love for our town's busy mart's; 

But the love for our homes is greater than all, 
The fires that bum there are most dear, 

And each of us heed the Community call 
To meet with our neighbors who're here. 

United we stand—divided we fall— 

Is an axiom both good and true— 

And we should all heed our Community call 
In all things that it should do; 


AND OTHER POEMS 


25 


Our friends are our neighbors—our neighbors 
our friends, 

Our future will always be bright 
If love, truth and honor, with charity blends 
For we never will be far from right. 

The women—God bless them—our virtuous 
homes 

Are the bulwark of all of our race; 

Sweet, unsullied womanhood forever comes 
Before men can stand any place; 

Though ’tis said “They are weaker” 

In them is the strength 
Of the men wherever they stand; 

To them we must look, through the breadth 
and the length 

Of America—fairest of lands. 


SPEAK NO EVIL 

Speak well of your Community, 

Your neighbors and your friends; 

If you may have an enemy 
That nothing good commends, 

And of whom there is naught to praise,— 
Be silent as the Sphinx; 

Thus you should even up with those • 
Who evil of you thinks. 


26 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


Our lives are short, too short to spend 
In bickering's and gibes; 

There’s better ways to pass our time 
Than thoughtless diatribes. 

Though the millennium may be 
A million years away 
Its up to us to live as though 
’Tis with us ev’ry day. 


CHRISTIAN ASSOCIATION 

It is good to live, when our hearts desire 
Will linger near our side; 

It is good to breathe the sweet, pure air, 
That fills the countryside: 

It is good to sing the songs we love— 

Our souls are carried higher 

And float in realms of bliss above, 

For Heaven is our desire. 

It is good to clasp a brothers hand 
In fellowship, and feel 

That there is, unseen, an angel band 
Around us when we kneel. 

It is good to see the light that shines 
In a believers eyes— 

Th^ Love, the Trust, the Hope that binds 
In Joy, that satisfies. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


27 


It is good to think of that land our faith 
Has peopled with those we love: 

It is good to believe, they are not a wraith, 
But live with God above 
Where we will meet and forever sing 
For joy, without discord, 

In the Palace of our Savior King, 

The Garden of our Lord. 


INDIAN SUMMER 

The sun, blood-red, enlights the eastern sky, 

A purple haze floats low o’er hill and dale, 
The wild-birds chatter noisily, and fly 
From tree to tree, as Summers dying wail 
Is borne upon the breeze; the dry leaves fall 
With rustling noise to seek their lowly bed; 
The blue sky, steadfast, hovers over all 
As Nature sings a requiem to the dead. 

At noon, the sun with Summers vigor shines 
Though fleecy couds are floating thru the air 
And Autumns touch the suns heat now refines 
With ozone, that revives our strength, and 


care 


28 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


Whose tentacles so long have clogged our 
breath 

Rolls from us like the mist of early morn 
And we who saw the near approach of Death 
See life again—new hope within us born. 


The sun descends, it disappears in mist 
That smokily lies on the horizon, 

Its last dim rays the bright hued leaves have 
kist. 

Another perfect day has been—is gone. 

The twilight slowly fades, the stars peep forth 
Unitedly, till myriads twinkling far above, 
Make plain to those who now serve God on 
earth 

That He is reigning, and they have His love. 


Since Time began, Seasons have come and 
went 

Unerringly—for Nature is His voice— 

With loving care, He to His children sent 
The changes which have made us all rejoice. 

The Shepherds watched their flocks in ages 
when 

To a small Voice from Heaven they would 
bow; 

The God of Abraham, was reigning then— 

The God of Abraham, is reigning now. 


AND OTHER POEMS 

THE BEAUTIFUL , AND TRUE 


There is beauty, there is grandeur 
In the Autumn sun at morn 
Scintillating silv’ry radiance 
On the frosty ear’s of corn. 

There’s a shivery, chilly feeling 
Chasing up the vertebrae 
When a man goes out a-husking 
This same corn, at break of day. 

There is beauty in the wildwood 
When the leaves begin to turn 
To a wealth of gold in Autumn, 

That a poet may discern. 

There’s a thought almost forgotten — 
When the leaves begin to fall 
There’s a world of work a-waiting 
And our hands—must do it all. 

There is beauty in the moonlight 
And the stars throughout the sky 
Twinkle like surpassing jewel’s, 

When the wild-fowl Southward fly. 
Then the pinching, nipping, North-wind 
Finds we for clothing lack, 

Reminding us that overcoats 
Would feel good on our backs, 


30 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


There is beauty in the Country, 
There is beauty in the town; 

In the one is simple Nature 
In the other Art is shown— 

But comparable to nothing 
Is the beauty of the dome 
Vaulted o’er this world of beauty— 
There, we hope will be our Home. 


MY CREED 

I believe in God, so good, so great 
So merciful, that He 

Pities mankind in his fallen state 
And cares for, even me. 

I believe, most men are not unkind, 

Are willing to be fair: 

I believe, in heaven we will find 
Our friends and loved ones there. 

I believe, “The Woman,” was given to man 
To love and cherish, sure 

She deserves our best, and it is Gods plan 
To keep her sweet and pure. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


31 


I believe, that the best we have on earth— 
The best that God e’er sends, 

Are those who stand by us, through sadness or 
mirth— 

Those whom we know are friends. 

I believe there is Heaven, and there is Hell; 

Divided, are sheep and goats— 

But ’Twas never intended for me to tell 
Who either is, by their coats. 

I believe, when this World is burned with fire 
And Time shall be no more 
The children of God will be called up Higher 
And live forevermore. 


GEORGE WASHINGTON 

George Washington was great, because 
He honored parents, told the truth; 
His later life in greatness draws 
A moral from his early youth. 

A farmer, soldier, president, 

Of politics he did not prate; 

All his great energy he lent 

To make his beloved country great. 


32 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


George Washington was great, because 
In all his efforts he was blest; 

He freed his country, gave her laws 
That were for all her people best. 

He could have raised himself on high 
And made the people tribute bring, 
But Washington disdained to try 
To make himself his country’s king. 


George Washington was great, for he 
Had vision, reaching far a-head; 
And thus in imagery, could see 
His country after he was dead; 

He saw the throne’s of Dynasty’s 
Long ages old, totter and fall, 

God and the people, who are His, 

The Power, ruling over all. 


George Washington bowed to that Power 
Infinite, which created Man; 

But to none other did he lower 
His standard; his perfected plan 
Of Freedom and an equal Right 
For citizens throughout the State, 

Will ever make his deeds shine bright, 

And Washington, forever GREAT, 


AND OTHER POEMS 


38 


ABRAHAM LINCOLN 

Sad and austere, yet humorous withal, 

A man of sorrow, who would oft recall 
An incident, which told with twinkling eye, 
Would ease the wounded pride and satisfy. 

A man of worth, whose softly spoken word, 

In the defense of right was often heard. 
Persuasive eloquence, understanding deep, 

He proved to all the truth, that Right may 
weep, 

But will prevail and from her tears will rise 
Unscathed by Wrong—and never, never dies. 

A tower of granite reaching far above 
His marble tomb, is token of our love; 

But greater far the monument he reared 
When he forever bound our Union. Bard 
And Historian will ever tell in song and story, 

Of Abraham Lincoln's rough-hewn, but right¬ 
eous, path to glory. 


34 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


OUR HERITAGE - 

From “The Battle Of Lookout Mountain” 

I stood at the foot of a mountain 
And gazed on a wonderful scene; 

The rays of the sun shone brightly 
On soft grass growing green 

That reflected its rays like diamonds, 
While up on the mountain side, 

The roses were waving and blushing 
Like the face of a beautiful bride. 

As I looked, the daylight faded 
Though the sun still shone o’er-head; 

The leaves of the trees were falling 
The grass looked brown and dead; 

Then a tongue of flame shot downward 
Which a blaze from the valley met, 

And the roar of cannon sounded 
Long ere the sun had set. 

I heard the shrieks of the wounded, 

I saw the shell-tom dead; 

The grey-clad men and blue-clad men 
Were below me and overhead; 

Now backward, now forward, they wavered 
And the steady booming sound 

Of the cannon all around me, 

With corpses strewed the ground. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


35 


Then out of the hanging smoke-clouds 
Came a beautiful, terrible, sight, 

Four-score blue-coated regiments 
Were scaling the mountain heights; 

The shouts of the men redoubled, 

My head with sorrow bowed, 

For the North, and South, Brothers, were fight¬ 
ing 

A battle above the clouds. 


I looked and the scene had shifted, 

The valley was peaceful again, 

The landscape was dotted with head-stones 
In memory of the men 
Who here gave their lives for a country, 
The greatest a man can own, 

And among them were fourteen-thousand 
That are simply marked—UNKNOWN. 


UNKNOWN: but a hero lies buried 
Beneath each grassy mound, 

His name is lost forever, 

But his soul is in heaven found. 

He has left to us his country 
He expects us to fight to save, 

And if after the battle we’re missing, 
May we be in an honored grave. 


36 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


THE MAN WHO IS ALWAYS BEHIND 

He gets out of bed with an uncertain air, 

And fumbles around for his clothes; 

Slowly washes his face and brushes his hair 
For the blood in his veins slowly flows; 

He considers awhile the work that’s to do 
And the place where he should begin, 

Then starts for the barn with thoughts all 
askew 

And feels like unpard’nable sin. 

With his hand on the latch, he suddenly stops 
And remembers the fire is not lit; 

And out of his brain there dismally crops 
The remembrance that wood is not split; 

So he picks up his axe and starts for the lot 
To cut up the wood for his fire 
But when he finally reaches the spot 

Where his wood-pile should be, it’s not there. 

Thus he passes the day in trying to get 
To the work of the day gone before; 

The system he follows is never -to set 
A time for each job, or do more 
Than enough to get by; he procrastinates 
And calls all his troubles bad luck, 

But he is mistaken, his ways predicate 
That he always behind will be stuck. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


37 


A PASTORAL 


Sweet is the rest, when the days work is done, 
To sit within the shade, of the green trees at 
home 

Dear is the thought that memory oft brings, 
And in our hearts, love for old friendships 
sings. 

Joyful the shouts, of children here at play, 
Glad are their voices, at the close of day. 


Far from the town and Citys great turmoil, 
Pure is the air that floats across the soil. 

Clean are the minds that close to nature live, 
Sweet is the hope, that none but God can give. 
Faith in our God, with Charity for all, 

Strong our belief, that none of His shall fall. 


Steadfast the Will, to do with all our might 
Our Duty here; and battle for the right. 

Hope is our Anchor, Faith the blooming flower, 
Sweeter its odors, each succeeding hour. 

So may we live till the great day shall come, 
To lay our armor down and go to our long home. 


38 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


ENGLISH JOE 


In merry England, long ago 
There lived a farmer, name was Joe. 
With buxom wife and children, he 
Lived in a Manor house, care-free; 

A flowering garden by its side 
And shady pastures country wide, 

With sheep and cattle grazing there 
Without a worry or a care. 

A babbling brook flowed through a wood 
And on its banks he often stood 
With basket, fishing-rod and line. 

For trout and grayling, there were fine. 


He loved good horses, loved the hounds 
That when the winding horn resounds 
Pour forth their music in reply, 

For soon they know that Reynard sly 
Will break from cover and will run 
For English sport, or English fun. 


Joe was a sportsman, greater than 
Befits an English farming man; 
He wasted at the public house 
Much time and money, in carouse. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


39 


The end came, as it must for all 
Who do not heed the warning call 
To those who swill ale, wine and beer 
Drink is deceiving in its cheer 
And on the downward road will go 
Those who persist, like English Joe. 

Bereft of money, friends and farm 
His stubborn soul without alarm 
Went West to rehabilitate 
Himself, and thought to reinstate 
His children and his loving wife 
And lead a new and sober life. 

Alas for resolutions made 
When drink has brain and nerves betrayed. 
He tarried still where wine was red 
Though hearts of wife and children bled 
And with despair and shame they cried, 
They no more with him could abide. 

Alone, his bitter thoughts a load, 

He traveled fast the downward road; 

He drifted, and would herd the sheep 
For ranchers on the mountains steep; 

Here with a collie, while away 
His wasted life, day after day. 

Attenuated grew his frame 

That once did ruddy health proclaim; 

Then one day, wind and frozen snow 
Ended the life of English Joe. 


40 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


We found him near a sheltering wall, 
Where he had answered his last call; 
His faithful collie by his side 
Who with him had the storm defied 
And thus gave proof, he had a friend 
On earth, who loved him to the end. 


Poor Joe; he sat like one at rest 
When after having done his best 
And limbs refusing to obey 
He slowly sank beside the way. 

His calm and placid features told 
That naught of fear he did behold 
In Death; but when the lethargy 
Crept to his vitals, peacefully 
Gave up the ghost, and made no sign 
He did for longer life repine. 


Perhaps he saw before he passed, 

His early life and not his last. 

Perhaps Deaths hour to him was sweet 
Forgotten was his winding sheet 
Of frozen snow; his mother came 
And smiled upon him just the same 
As when a child he used to roam 
Around his dear old English home. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


41 


Perhaps the Cheviot Hills and farm 
Passed in review his brain to charm; 

His wife and children as they wait 
For Father at the garden gate; 

Perhaps twas thus, we only know 
There, frozen stiff, sat English Joe. 

With chastened hearts and tearful eyes 
(For Death the souls of strong men tries) 
Where feet of white men seldom come 
We made for Joe his last, long home; 

The silence there was so profound 
Our ear-drums throbbed to hear a sound 
With mournful thoughts and dragging feet 
And no one there to prayers repeat, 

Within a niche, that nature made 
The body of poor Joe was laid. 

With stones around and overhead 
He sleeps within his lowly bed 
And there awaits the happy day 
His soul shall rise from earthly clay 
And with bright angels, soar above 
Around God’s throne, where all is love. 


The life and death of English Joe, 

Is proof bad habits always grow 
For love of ease and drink, he threw 
Away all good he ever knew 
Of stubborn mold, his stubborn will, 
Would only try his glass to fill 



42 


THE PASSING OF THE 1LLINI 


With stuff to him a poison vile 
That robbed him of the loving smile 
Of wife and children, neighbors, friends, 
For to the depths of Hell it sends 
The man who lets the habit grow, 

A warning take from English Joe. 


THE DEAD PAST 

Don’t talk of things we might have done 
But of things we can do; 

The day is past we might have won, 

We failed to put it through. 

If ever done, (and it may be), 

Some future day will prove 
The right or wrong and we can see 
And if wrong—can remove. 

We may retrieve a fortune spent; 

We may absolve a sin; 

But not in days that from us went, 

But those that shall begin. 

It might have been, is never true; 

(It may in future be) 

But never might have been for you 
And never might for me. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


43 


Though science is a wondrous thing 
And wields a mighty power, 

It cannot a past action bring 
From out its fateful hour. 

We do not know a single act, 

That is, or was, or were, 

Might have been different in fact; 
Though so it may appear. 

So we will to the future look 
For things we hope to be; 

And never let past failures brook 
Our efforts, nor the plea— 

“It might have been” discourage us, 
But work to prove our cause 
And show to future ages, thus— 
Not might have been, but WAS. 


THE OLD ROAD THROUGH THE TIMBER 

Well, Jim; I took a walk today, 

Through fields we used to know 
As timber land, through which the road 
Wound, forty years ago. 

Then hickory and post oak trees 
Grew thick, and straight and high, 

But now there’s naught to hide my sight 
Betwixt the earth and sky. 


44 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


I stepped off of the public road 
And followed the old track 

We traveled forty years ago 
In going to church and back. 

The young folks then would walk to church, 
(They ride in auto’s now) 

The times have changed, the young folks too, 
For better? worse? or how? 

I walked by where the red oak stood, 

The hickory, and the clump 

Of post oaks that we used to strike 
To hear the hollow thump; 

The elms, where mushrooms used to grow, 
The wild-plums full of fruit; 

Where squirrels would chatter, wild birds sing, 
Now everything is mute. 

I walked into the church and stood 
Gazing around the room; 

My thoughts turned back to preachers, who 
Would tell the awful doom 

Of those who would not heed the Call 
And give their souls to God; 

Those preachers’ souls are now in Heaven, 
Their bodies ’neath the sod. 

We can’t forget those preachers, Jim, 

Perhaps they did us good; 

Though we were never angels, Jim, 

But, we have always stood 


AND OTHER POEMS 


45 


For fairness with our fellowmen; 

Though we have oft been blamed; 
(If some, now enemies, were friends, 
Well, Jim, I’d be ashamed.) 


We’ve lived our lives accordingly 
As Light to us was given; 

And when we pass, we have a hope 
Our souls will rest in Heaven. 
Our trust is in a righteous God, 
Who has all power and might; 
The justice that He gives us, Jim, 
We feel is always right. 


WE TOOK THE CHILDREN 

The children were excited 

When the circus came to town 
They saw the pictured posters 
Of the brass-band and the clown, 
The elephants and tigers, 

Zebus and buffalo, 

And every kid was anxious 
To be taken to the show. 


46 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


My wife and I are growing old, 
(don’t mention this to her,) 

And would rather stay at home; 
Than sit up in a circus-tent 
And watch the hippodrome. 

We heard the clowns crack chestnuts 
Some forty years ago; 

But the kids were so insistent,. 

We took them to the show. 


When we arrived, inside the tent 
The free seats were all full; 

But gentlemen in uniform 
Were on the job to pull 
The few remaining ducats 
(That I did not aim to blow) 

From my pockets, for reserved seats, 
Where the kids could see the show. 


So we shelled out all our shekels, 
And the hope within our breast 
That we might buy some lemonade, 
For want of Faith, went West; 
But we were in and had a seat, 

The kids were happy, so, 

We thought we would enjoy ourselves 
While we were in the show. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


47 


We applauded with the others 
When we heard the ladies sing; 
We giggled with the children 
At every funny thing; 

And memory turned backward 
To the times we used to go; 

For our parents, (like their children) 
Took their children to the show. 

When the final act was ended 

And the crowd was packing tight 
To get out all together 

(The children out of sight) 

A little grandchild whispered— 

0 grandpa, don’t you know 
It takes a lot of old-folks 

To take children to the show. 


NOT A CANDIDATE 

A friend remarked to me one day 
In a confidential manner, 

“Will you consent to bear for us 
The office-seeker’s banner?” 

Though I was taken by surprise, 

My aspiration buddin’ 

I coyly answered: “Let me think, 
This is so awful sudden.” 


48 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


He said: “Alright, just take your time 
But I have long reflected, 

And if you will consent to run, 

You sure will be elected.” 

For office I had never ran. 

And never cranked the motor 

That stirs the office-seeker’s brain, 

To shake hands with the voter. 

I asked advice of several friends, 

(Who gave it free as water); 

If there would be a chance to win 
Or simply be a slaughter. 

They.all, without exception, said: 
(Orating ad libitum) 

“If you can get the mostest votes, 

The other man can’t git ’em.” 

“And on the other hand, if he 
Can get more votes than you, 

He sure will get the office 
No matter what you do.” 

I felt this to be logical, 

And sure as death and tax, 

And called to mind the proverb: 

“Where the chicken, gets the ax.” 



AND OTHER POEMS 


49 


I have a secret garden plot, 

With buds and flowers blooming; 
It is to me a pretty spot 
Not meant to be assuming. 

I looked to see that little bud, 

(My aspiration scion) 

And it had bloomed and blown away 
Just like a “dandelion.” 


RADIO 

I sat on my chair at midnight, 

The head-set on my ears 
The song that I heard folks singing 
Would bring applause and cheers 
From the bunch that was surrounding 
The gang, broadcasting the play, 

And I could hear them plainly 
A thousand miles away. 

I sat on a chair at midnight, 

The ear-set on my head 
When a sound from the darkness stirred me, 
“Say, when are you going to bed?” 

’Twas the voice of a woman speaking 
From out of the silence and gloom, 

And I could hear her plainly, 

Just in the other room, 


50 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


OURS 

Our right’s are our right's , though they may 
seem wrong 

To those who may not agree; 

Our hope’s are our hope's, and they sing a 
song 

No other’s can hear or see. 

Our faith is our faith, and the evidence 
To us is beyond reproach; 

Our friend’s are our friend's, the recompense 
For those whom our right’s encroach. 

Though the way is long and beset with snare’s 
’Tis our right to do our best; 

Hope eases and much of our burden bears, 
Shut closely within our breast. 

With our faith in God—our greatest friend— 
Who is with us day and night, 

We will cheerfully travel unto the end, 

And He will guide us a-right. 


CONTENTMENT 

You may travel the wide world over, 

And not find a place to abide; 

You may pamper the lust of the rover, 
And never be satisfied; 


AND OTHER POEMS 


51 


You may wander like one who’s demented, 
Disgusted, wherever you roam, 

And you may be loved and contented 
Within a log cabin, at home. 


Environment, is not the aegis 
Protecting a hope in the breast 
Which possesses a longing to see this 
Great country; it cannot find rest. 

For, ever it is the tomorrow 

Your hope is to reach to the goal 
Of contentment, to only find sorrow, 
Awaits the dissatisfied soul. 

So strive to be ever contented, 

And strive to do always—your best; 

Let the love of your friends be cemented 
By being—just one with the rest; 

Stand firmly for what may surround you, 
And surely, whatever may fall 
It will have as certainly found you 
With friends, and respected by all. 


There is pleasure in work and pleasure in play, 
There is joy for me and for you— 

When we do with the will that finds a way 
The things we believe we should do. 



52 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


Those who may be rich and those who are poor 
Have an equal chance to succeed 
In scattering kindness at every door 

Where their walk through life may lead. 

Though a man may carry a titled name 
That is known the world around 
His dust and the beggar’s are the same 
When his body is under the ground. 

Our happiness is in being content 
With our lot as we find it here— 

If our time on earth is usefully spent 
There is nothing in death to fear. 

So let us not envy the rich and the great, 
Though lowly our station in life— 

We may be more happy in our lowly state 
With nothing to cause us strife. 


IN ILLINOIS 

I hear folks talk of “good old times,” 
When home-made pantaloons 
Were worn by men, and sober rhymes 
Were sung to solemn tunes. 

The women were in “linsey” dressed 
And life was peace and joy, 

But I think present life the best— 

If lived in Illinois, 


AND OTHER POEMS * 


53 


In history, I read of men 
Of noble thoughts and acts, 

Who shaped the course of events then 
And do not doubt the facts; 

Their servitors to them would bow, 

And nothing would annoy; 

But I would rather live right now— 
And live in Illinois. 


Some love to talk of future things 
To be exploited here 
And wish that time bereft of wings 
Would pause till they appear. 

I little care for ways and means 
The future may employ; 

I’m satisfied with things and scenes 
As found in Illinois. 


Here pleasant breezes blow across 
The undulating plains 
Where crops of growing grain emboss 
The soil, refreshed by rains; 

The cities, rivers, hills and vales, 
Possessing we enjoy; 

Delight in living never pales 
When lived in Illinois. 


54 THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 

UNKNOWN GRAVES 

Out on the wind-swept prairie 
There is risen a little mound, 

Covered with sod and daisie’s 
That blossom profusely round 
Forgotten, there some-one is sleeping 
Without marker or stone, 

Under the sod and daisies, 

Out on the prairie, alone. 

At the base of a forest monarch, 

That grew on the brow of a hill 
Overlooking a valley 

Where flows a murmuring rill, 

Is a grave, unknown, unheeded, 
Unhonored in deed nor word, 

In the solitude of the forest 
Where only the wild is heard. 

Father’s perhaps long sought them, 
And Mother’s with sigh’s and tear’s 
Prayed to the Heavenly Father 
For a sign to allay their fear’s. 

But they are lost to their kindred, 

To all but God, UNKNOWN; 

Deep in the forest—forgotten, 

Out on the prairie—alone. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


55 


GRATIS DICTUM 

The world is growing better 
Enthusiast’s many think; 
“The law T has forged a fetter 
Around the demon Drink , 
Belief in Christ is spreading, 
The Church is growing strong, 
Humanity is heading 

Away from doing wrong.” 


The world’s degenerating 
The Pessimist will say; 

“By law, we are creating 
Condition’s, worse each day; 
Religion is receding 

And few things now are well, 
Humanity is speeding 

On the straight road to Hell.” 


The world is growing older 
For better or for worse (?) 
The old idea’s molder 
As new idea’s nurse; 

God only, knows the trending 
Of a world that He will rend— 
Humanity is wending 
Its way—until the end. 


56 


THE PASSING OP THE ILLINI 


WHAT HE WAS 


His neighbor’s said—“He might have been 
A power in Church or State, 

His name wrote high in the Hall of Fame 
Among those who were great.” 

His manner pleased, his voice was soft, 

His physique of the best, 

He stood at ease and held aloft 
A coronet and crest. 


His Ancestry, was dated back 
Till History is dim; 

His parent’s walked the beaten track 
That was made plain to him. 


He would not do as his parents’ did 
He went his way alone, 

Without ambition he walked amid 
The ruins of his throne. 


His neighbor’s said—“He might have been 
A maker of men and law’s,” 

He lived his day’s like other men 
And died—just what he was. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


57 


THE AMERICAN LEGION 


Attention! bare your heads, salute, see yon flag 
arise, 

The Stars and Stripes, unfurl and float free in 
the skies; 

See those boys in khaki, standing at salute, 

Iflear the strains, “Star Spangled Banner,” 
while all else is mute 

Do you remember why we this day commemo¬ 
rate ? 

November 11, 1918, in every town, in every 
State, 

The news came, that our boys who crossed the 
sea, who paid the price 

Had won the war for freedom and declared an 
Armistice. 


Do you remember how the German war lord 
sank our ships at sea 

And hundreds of our citizens were drowned; 
and you and me 

Said, something must be done, or freedom 
would collapse 

And be a byword; if someone did not smash 
those hidden traps 

That filled the seas wherever ships might sail? 

And how the Germans sneered to see us quail ? 


58 


THE PASSING OF THE 1LLINI 


He thought we feared him, his submarines, and 
mines. 

That we would bow to him and not condemn 
his crimes. 


’Twas then our boys from East, West, North 
and South, 

Sailed o’er the sea and dared the Germans can¬ 
non’s mouth. 

At Chateau Thierry, Belleau Wood and St. 

Mihiel, 

And in the Argonne Forest they fought, the 
doom of German power to seal. 

Do you remember what those boys in khaki 
did? 

Never retreating, always advancing to the 
front, amid 

The hail of machine gun bullets and the awful 
poison gas, 

Smashed Hindenburgs famous line, that all be¬ 
fore had failed to pass. 


November eleventh dawned, nineteen eighteen, 
Our flag still in the van, its starry sheen 
Cheering the brave boys who followed rank on 
rank, 

Into the mouth of revealed hell with bayonet 
and tank; 


AND OTHER POEMS 


59 


Ten thousand German cannons blazed and roar¬ 
ed before 

And thousands of their comrades fell to rise 
no more. 

The airplanes sailed over them and from on 
high 

Rained bombs and bullets, from life to die, 

Was but a moments time, but on they pressed 

Till eleven o’clock A. M. when the bugles 
sounded “Rest.” 

Attention! Salute those boys! Salute the flag 

That there floats over all, it is no common rag, 

It represents our Country and the free 

Men who offered up their lives on land and sea. 

And though its proudly waving stars and 
stripes are mute, 

It smiles on them who kept it from dishonor; 
Attention! Salute. 


PLANT TREES 

(In Memoriam) 

We meet today to plant a tree, 
For those who died; 
That they may live in memory 

Along the country-side. 


60 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


They gave all any man can give, 

And cheerfully, 

Their lives; that friends in peace might live, 
And would be free. 

They now are lying ’neath the sod, 

Their sun is set; 

So plant those trees where they have trod, 

Lest we forget. 

Though their lives here were tempest-tossed, 
Their bodies riven; 

We know their souls will not be lost, 

They are in Heaven. 


OUR SOLDIER DEAD 

In storms of shot and shell they stood, 
Shoulder to shoulder, side by side; 

Their thoughts were for their Country’s good, 
For this they fought and bled and died. 

This is the proof of love supreme, 

When man his life, for friends will give, 
And by his sacrifice redeem 

So they a peaceful life may live. 


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61 


The flag and flowers upon each grave 
Reminds us of brave spirits gone; 

We owe a debt to them and crave 
This pitiful payment to our sons. 

The Blue, The Olive Drab, The Gray, 

Repose in peace here, side by side; 
Americans, none greater, they 

As brave men lived, as brave men died. 

Our soldier boys are sleeping in the valley, 
Our soldier boys are sleeping on the hill; 

No more, around the starry flag to rally 
At the calling of the bugle loud and shrill. 

They nevermore will hear the spoken order, 
They nevermore will hear the rolling drum; 
Their souls have passed beyond the misty 
border, 

Their bodies lie within the silent tomb. 

Yet in our memories, we see their faces 
And smilingly they go along their way, 

As years ago they proudly filled their places 
Within the ranks and kept the foe at bay. 

But now their work is done, the fitful hours 
Of life are past, and we in memory lay 
These tokens of our love—garlands of flow¬ 
er's— 

Upon the sod above their mouldering clay. 


62 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


Sleep on! Ye kept the faith, ye d'id your duty. 
Posterity must keep the shrine wherein ye 
lie; 

Your deeds will live in never fading beauty, 
And in our memory ye will never die. 


ARMISTICE DAY 
November 11, 1918. 

Cheer! the awful war is ended, 

Sing! “My Country, Tis Of Thee,” 

Soon our boys again we’ll see; 

We have prayed that this would be 
And our prayers with sobs were blended. 
Now, ’tis glorious! 

We’re victorious! 

The great War Machine is rended. 

November 11, Commemoration 

Hear the rhythmic tramp of feet; 

See the swinging, even stride; 
(Thousands of their comrades died, 
Bravely, fighting by their sides.) 
Watch them coming down the street! 
Marching proudly— 

Cheer them, LOUDLY! 

These boys never did retreat. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


68 


On the battlefields of France, 

They proudly faced the foe; 

Forward, marching heel and toe 
Swift they struck and sure the blow. 
Life or Death? they took the chance; 
In the trenches, 

Mud and stenches— 
Soldiers! without arrogance. 


Silently, upon the breeze 
Poison to their nostrils came; 
Deadly gas—to them the same 
How they died—war is to blame. 
They were taught at mothers knees; 
Men and brothers! 

Cheer for Mothers! 
Mothers of such boys as these. 


God is with us; ev’rywhere 
He is smiling on our land; 
Through Him, we victorious stand 
Untouched by Wars fi’ry brand. 
Trusting Him, we do not fear; 

Not complaining; 

God is reigning; 

Whom we trusted—Overthere. 


64 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


THE OLD SCYTHE TREE 


There is a tree near Waterloo, New York, that is 
called, “The Old Scythe Tree.” After the surrender 
of Fort Sumter, a recruiting station was opened at 
Waterloo. 

Wyman Johnston was mowing with a scythe when 
he heard the roll of the drums calling for the first 
volunteers from the North. He hung his scythe in 
the crotch of this tree, told his parents to leave it 
there until his return. He went to the front, and— 
never came back. 


He heard the call of the rolling drums, 

He volunteered to go, 

His heart was fired by the holy zeal 
That only the brave can know. 

He hung his scythe up in the tree 
And said to his parents, “Leave 
It hanging there till I return, 

Remember and do not grieve.” 

He donned the blue, and in the ranks 

Where the Stars and Stripes would lead, 
He bravely faced the Southern guns, 

For he was a stubborn breed. 

His mother and father with longing hearts 
Watched for their boy to come, 

They watched in vain, he never returned 
To the place that was his home. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


65 


The tree grew over the old scythe blade, 
That was once so keen and bright; 
The handle rotting, dropped away, 

The blade grew rusty, but tight 
And firmly ’tis held, a memorial 
To a brave man it makes; 

He gave his life for a principle; 

• He died for his Country’s sake. 


THE MEMORIAL TABLET 

Inscribed hereon are names of men; 

Obedient to their Country’s laws 
Went forth to do her battles when 
Called to uphold a righteous cause. 
For Home and Country, they applied 
The blood of freemen; thus they died. 


Braves, with strong hearts, they hoped to see 
Their homes again, when war was done; 
They loved each flow’ring shrub and tree 
That grew and blossomed ’neath the sun 
Of our fair country; they defied 
Her foes, their duty did, and died. 


66 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


They never saw their homes again, 

Nor loved ones, that were waiting there; 
They never heard the glad refrain 
Of Victory, their comrades share. 

On Honors scroll their names abide, 

True men, who lived, and loved, and died. 

Hero’s? they did their best, gave all, 

There is no man that can do more; 

For this received, a fun’ral pall, 

Within the battles smoke and roar; 

All other names must be decried, 

Hero’s, were these brave men who died. 


God rest their souls, and may we not forget 
The men who for us Life has given; 

The sun for them on earth has set, 

But bright their glory shines in Heaven. 

Around the throne of Him once crucified, 

We hope to meet again these men who died. 

WHEN THE CLOUDS ROLL BY 

Don’t think because the sky is overcast 
That clouds will always hide the sun; 

For they were evanescent in the past 
And still will be till day’s are done. 

Again the sun will shine, the skies will clear, 
The wheat and corn will grow again; 

In brighter tints the green and gold appear 
When the sun shines, after the rain. 



AND OTHER POEMS 


67 


OUR THANKSGIVING PRAYER 

On this day—our Thanksgiving Day—Dear 
Lord, 

We lay aside our worldly thoughts and cares; 

And in our Homes, we thank Thee for Thy 
Word, 

That teaches us that Thou wilt answer 
prayers. 

Lord give us light 
To pray a-right. 

We thank Thee for Thy mercy; ev’ry day 

We fail to do the many things we should; 

And sinful now, we turn to Thee and pray, 

We ask forgiveness, through Christ Jesus’ 
blood. 

Without the Son 
We are undone. 

We thank Thee for our lives, which Thou hast 
giv’n 

We thank Thee for our friends—who firmly 
stand 

With us through trouble—and our hope in 
Heav’n 

Grows stronger with the grasp of friendly 
* hands. 

Friendship is love 

Like Thine above. 


68 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


We thank Thee for our health and worldly 
store 

Which Thou hast giv’n to us, all nature 
needs; 

We thank Thee for our peaceful homes and 
more— 

The sweet assurance where Thy wisdom 
leads. 

Wisdom is Thine 
Savior Divine. 


We thank Thee for our loved ones gone before. 
Sad though our parting and acute our pain; 
Now they are waiting on that happy shore, 
Where soon, we will meet with them all, 
again. 

Soon we will meet 
And loved ones greet. 


We ask compassion Lord, for those who lie 
On beds of sickness, suffering and woe; 
Inscrutable Thy Providence, and why, 

Only Thou knowest; (not for us to know). 
Thou knowest best 
And will give rest. 


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69 


But more than all, our thanks we give to Thee, 
For a sweet hope, that lingers in our breast; 
It buoys our spirits up till we can see 

Beyond the grave, to mansions of the blest. 
Great is the scope 
Of this sweet hope. 


0 Lord, Thou knowest we are weak and vile, 
And in ourselves can never reach that goal; 
Wilt Thou reach down and lead us here a-while, 
Fit for Thy mansions, our immortal souls. 

In Thee we trust. 

And Thou art just. 


THANKSGIVING TIME 

In Summer-time we’re thankful 
When the balmy breezes blow; 

In Autumn we are thankful 
That the winter comes so slow; 

In Winter we are thankful 

For we know that time will bring— 
The gay birds and the blossoms 
Of a new and glorious spring. 


70 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


Spring-time is full of promise 
To the young and to the old; 
The summer-time is beautiful 
With fields of green and gold; 
In autumn we have garnered 
The fruits of summers toil; 

In winter natures blossoms 
Lie dormant in the soil. 


The Winter is the season 
Which is given us to rest; 

The spring-time is the season 
That nature loves the best; 
The summer is the season 

That brings the harvest home; 
The Autumn brings fruition, 
Thanks-giving time is come. 


When the frost is on the punkin, 
(As good Jim Riley said,) 

The alfalfa in the hay-mow, 

The cattle in the shed; 

The turkey on the table, 

We are near to the sublime, 
Our childrens gathered round us 
This is our thanksgiving time. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


CHRISTMAS 

The shepherds on Judea’s hills 

Watched o’er their flocks at night; 
The angel of the Lord appeared, 

His glory shining bright— 

The shepherds were afraid, but when 
The angel said—“Behold— 

I bring you tidings of great joy” 

Their fears no more did them annoy, 
For truth, the angel told. 

The wise men, saw a shining star, 
Bright in the eastern sky; 

They traveled to Jerusalem, 

There, Herod privily, 

Called them and diligent inquired 
What time the star appeared; 

He sent them on to Bethlehem 
And asked them to report to him, 

For he, Christ Jesus feared. 

Then God, again showed them the star. 
That went before to guide 
The wise men to the manger where 
Christ lay by Mary’s side. 

They worshipped him and presents gave 
Of frankincense and myrrh 
And gold; they then departed hence 
Another way than that by whence 
They had been guided there. 


72 THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 

Thus, Christmas, now commemorates 
The birth of Jesus Christ, 

Who came to save and gave his life, 

—Willingly sacrificed— 

That we may life eternal have, 

With joy commensurate — 

Where equal to the angels, we 
Around the throne of God will be, 
Within the heavenly gate. 

So, while our lives are prolonged here— 
To honor Jesus’ birth 
Christmas should be a happy day 
To all Christians on earth. 

Our friends should all remembered be, 
The least that we can do, 

Is, give to children, books and toys 
And make them happy girls and boys, 
That love each Christmas too. 


HOPE 

THERE is music in the whistle 
Of the March wind, for it tells — 
As it blows across the prairies, 

The hills and lonesome dells— 

Of a better time that’s coming, 
When the sun will shine around. 
And the blue-bells and the violets 
Will look up from the ground. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


73 


THEN, the glory of the Springtime 
Will warm our sluggish blood 
And with the happy children 

We may wander through the wood, 
Where the bursting buds and blossoms 
Are foretelling life complete, 

And the song-birds sweet-toned voices 
Sing their happiness to meet. 

THUS the while it rains I ponder 
The vicissitudes of life; 

Sometimes clouds and sometimes sunshine 
With which our existence’ rife; 

But there’s better things a-coming; 

We are here to just prepare 
For the happy time a-waiting 
For the faithful—OVERTHERE. 


THE “SPELL” OF THE 
“SPELL OF THE YUKON” 

I have read a book of poems 
Presented by a friend; 

I started with the first one 
And read them to the end: 

They were composed by “Service,’ 
And caused my heart to thrill 
As none before him ever did 
Nor likely ever will. 


74 


THE PASSING OP THE ILLINI 


As I read, I saw the sunset, 

Felt the frosts cold, piercing blight; 
Then the everlasting darkness 
Broken by the Northern Light; 

Felt the sting that chilled the marrow; 

Felt my sluggish blood congeal, 

As the wind swept up the river 
With the snow, that cut like steel. 


Then, I saw the mighty grandeur 
Of the mountains of the North; 

And the rugged men who wander, 

With their sledges faring forth 
With their teams of snapping “Huskies/’ 
“Parkas” buckled ’round them tight 
Driving stoic’ly, half frozen, 

Through the clear and silent night. 


I saw “the men who don’t fit in,” 

The many of his kind 
Are neither good or filled with sin— 

But always are behind. 

I saw the “Harpy” and felt the truth 
Of the words she had to say— 

A man was the cause of her ruined youth, 
And men, her logical prey. 



AND OTHER POEMS 


75 


The “Low down white” has lost his right 
To live; his putrid soul 
Long ago fell to the depths of Hell, 
Where the Devil is taking toll. 

The “Parsons Son,” when he died alone 
Lamenting the good he had lost; 

He lived apace and run his race 
Without counting the cost. 


There was “Sam McGee” of Tennessee, 
Complaining, frozen and poor, 

I could see the smile on his face when he 
Said: “Cap, please close that door.” 

I saw the “Dangerous Dan McGrew,” 

Near the musical miner who lost 
The lady the men there knew as “Lou,” 

I was glad “Dan,” paid the cost. 

Then at last, I saw the angel come 
From the throne of Heaven down 
To mix with men, but now and then 
T would cause a woman to frown; 

I could not blame the woman, 

And the angel was forgiven; 

This World is no place for an angels’ grace, 
For it is far from Heaven. 



76 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


The man who reads will feel his needs, 

His limitations know, 

It takes a man with nerve and sand 
To stay in the frozen snow. 

The goal he would reach, will be put higher. 
His heart and brain will expand 
Till they lift him out of surrounding mire 
And make him—a better man. 


TOM HIGGINS 

Tune to “Yankee Doodle” 

Commemorating the fight at “Hill Fort” near 
Greenville, Illinois, August 31, 1814. 

Tom Higgins came to Illinois 
From his home in Kentucky 
Where he had lived as man and boy, 

And Illinois was lucky. 

For Indians roamed the woods and plains 
And paddled on the river, 

Their savage hands left bloody stains 
From rifle, bow and quiver. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


77 


A little block-house sheltered men 
Who, like Tom Higgins, waited 

Not for safe-conduct there, but then 
Had boldly immigrated. 

Brave men were in that little fort 
And by their Captain’s order 

They marched, a bloody death to court 
From Indian’s on the border. 

They did not blanch, but grasped their guns 
With hands that never trembled: 

Americans, they were true sons 
Of freemen, there assembled. 

The foe discovered (ten to one) 

Was anxious for a battle, 

And ere the fight had scarce begun 
The soldiers fell like cattle. 

The Captain and three soldiers died, 

Another, with leg shattered 

Crawled to the fort while Tom defied 
The redskins, (who were scattered.) 

His rifle spoke, once, twice, each time, 

A redskin went to wander 

Into the happy hunting clime 
For redskins, over yonder. 


78 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


Now Tom was weak from loss of blood, 
Yet when a savage drew him 

With rifle up until he stood, 

Tom fired the gun and slew him. 

A woman shamed his comrades, till 
They left the fort to save him 

And rushing with her down the hill 
A chance for life they gave him. 

Though tomahawked and filled with lead 
His body gashed and gory; 

He was not numbered with the dead, 

But lived to tell the story. 

Now, near the one-time Capitol 
Of our great State, he’s sleeping 

A-waiting for his Savior’s call, 

While Fame, his name is keeping. 


Epitaph 

Here rests Tom Higgins—Pioneer— 

A brave man—one of many, 

Who fought the Indian without fear, 
And never charged a penny. 

A rugged man, a rugged life, 

A rugged time to live it 
But now he’s free frpm toil and strife, 
All honor we will give it. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


79 


BLACK HAWK 

On a bluff of the Rock River, near Oregon, Illinois, 
stands a concrete statue of the famous, war chief of 
the Sac Indians, “Black Hawk.” 

His voice is now silent, 

No war-cry resounds 
Through the woods and the mountains 
With echoes profound. 

His warriors are gone 

Where the Indian’ will rest 
In the famed hunting ground 
Of the unexplored West. 

In cold clammy concrete 
He stands on a knoll 
Where the voices of thousands 
Once brightened his soul. 

Here he was the Ruler, 

To the “Great Spirit” prayed, 

When he was the monarch 
Of all he surveyed. 

He is dead; now the pale-face 
Has taken his place 
With the “Spirit of Progress,” 

The bane of his race. 

But imperishable, high 
In the Temple of Fame, 

Is brightly emblazoned 

The Black Haw&’§ great naipe s 


80 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


KEOKUK 

In nineteen thirteen a magnificent bronze statue of 
“Keokuk,” the peace chief, was unveiled over his 
grave, at Keokuk, Iowa. 


Thy bronze image, standing in they ancestral 
home, 

Still gazes where thou in life would often roam. 

And when the war-hatchet was in the tent-pole 
struck 

You raised your voice for peace, Great Keokuk. 

• 

The pale-face says, “The pen is mightier than 
the sword,” 

And men of peace are greater in their spoken 
word; 

So thou wast greater, with thy firm but peace¬ 
ful talk, 

Than were the bloody war-chief s • with their 
toma-hawks. 

In life, though a savage, thou didst pray and 
long for peace 

With all the human race, and bloody war to 
cease; 

You longed to hear the white and red man’s 
voices blended sound 

In songs of peace, this side the Happy Hunting 
Ground. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


81 


It could not be, Great Keokuk, but now the 
human race 

Is striving for that goal; to make the World a 
place 

Where all will love each other, nor with lies 
beguile, 

And foul war be no more; What, Keokuk! 
“Didst Thou Smile?” 


CAHOKIA, OR MONK’S MOUND 

It tower’s high toward the sky 
The unexplained in ^listory— 

Even Tradition fails 
’Mongst savages, aborigines 
Who lived their lives amid these scenes 
But of IT told no tales. 

All that they knew,—all that we know— 
Is, some-time in the long ago 
This Mound was raised to high 
Above the bottom land around; 

For this, no reason has been found 
Although men try and try. 

We love to speculate, and say 
Perhaps upon a long past day, 


82 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


A Nation made their stand 
In serried ranks, around, on top, 
They tried a savage host to stop; 
And save their native land. 


Perhaps here savage Priest’s have stood 
And offered to their God the blood 
Of living, human men; 

Perhaps they in their altar’s fire 
Made for themselves a fun’ral pyre 
And thus absolved their sin. 


Enlightened man digs ’mongst the bones 
Long buried here, but only moans 
That he can nothing find 
To prove when this great mound was reared; 
Or if the builder’s loved or feared 
Our God or human kind. 


God only, knows when it was built 
And if it was Fear, Pride, or Guilt, 
That piled this clay and sod; 

We, if it be destroyed, would grieve; 
We should protect it now, and leave 
IPs origin with God, 


AND OTHER POEMS 


83 


THE PASSING SHOW 


I stood on the street in the evening, 

While the people were passing by; 

And I thought of man, made in God’s image, 
And then I wondered why. 


There were babies perambulated, 

Little children, full of fun; 

And then the size who think they are wise, 
Though their lives have scarcely begun. 
Youths and maidens, sedately walking, 
With manhood and womanhood near; 
The girl with a beau she loves to show; 

And he embarrassed with fear. 


There’s the young man who calles himself 
“Sporty,” 

To others he is a joke; 

His lips are set on a cigarette, 

But he never will—make a smoke—. 

There’s the girl in the height of fashion, 
Dressed in regard to her looks; 

She has bobbed her hair and likes to wear 
The latest in fashion books. 


84 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


There’s the business man, in a hurry 
Lest he might lose a trade; 

He studies his weal when he makes a deal, 
His living must be made. 

There “Shylock” contends with his debtor. 
For the pound of flesh agreed; 

And he will not, change tittle nor jot, 
Though the debtors heart may bleed. 


There’s the Lawyers and the Doctors, 

Intent on clientele; 

If clients sigh and patients cry, 

Better they both must feel. 

For the World must be filled with weakness 
Of the head and body too, 

For the lawyers to live, and the doctors give 
Their particular nostrums to. 


There the laity and the preacher, 

Are hurrying side by side; 

The preacher intent on a sermon meant 
The careless world to guide; 

Religion and philanthropy, 

With morals, he has mixed, 

Till the plans that are gave the world to save ? 
Are never firmly fixed. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


85 


Day after day it is passing, 

This hurrying, skurrying throng; 

The young and bold and those that are old, 
Singing the same old song; 

That was handed down from the ages 
And will be passed to those that come, 
Till the World shall end and all will blend 
In an Eternal Home. 


THEODORE ROOSEVELT 

He quickly saw, and instantly applied 
The means to do whatever he'd decide. 

He cared but little what the world would say 
What he thought best he did, and did his way; 
Withal, it was the peoples rights he had in 
mind 

And to the claims of Privilege was blind. 


Aristocratic he was born and bred, 

To be aristocratic was his dread, 

To prove he was the common peoples friend 
His hand in fellowship he would extend 
Yet, with autocratic mind and iron hand 
He calmed the people, as he ruled the land. 


86 THE PASSING OP THE ILLINI 

WOODROW WILSON 

A teacher, with an acute, brilliant brain, 

He sought the ways and means true men 
should train. 

When wars dark cloud had o’er the whole 
World spread 

And millions of the stalwart men were dead, 

He guided our own nation firmly through the 
storm, 

Yet sought a way to banish future wars dread 
form. 

He labored for the people, his Country’s good 

Was first in everything he did or would. 

He was much loved, much hated, as great men 
are, 

His great objective, was to end all war. 

He living, contributed strength to laws, 

And died a martyr to a glorious cause. 


CHEER UP 

Are you tired and out of sorts, 

Gloomy thoughts within your mind 
Do you listen for reports 
Of the sad, distressful kind 


AND OTHER POEMS 


87 


Cheer up buddy—you are wrong, 
Thoughts like these you may release, 
You had better sing a song; 

Then your soul will be at peace. 

Do you feel that you are left 
Out of sight and out of mind; 

Of your friends you are bereft; 

In life’s voyage—far behind? 

Cheer up—each must bear a cross, 
But look on the brighter side, 

Where the sunshine will emboss 
Everything, where you abide. 


HAPPINESS 

John Smith was a sturdy Pioneer, 

Who lived a frugal life; 

Through summers and winters for many a year 
With his careful, agreeable, wife. 

At first they had worked in order to live, 

And later the habit grew 
Till they worked and saved and no thought 
give 

To Time, as he onward flew. 


88 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


But Father Time has a memory keen 
As the scythe he carries around; 

When the Smiths their allotted years had seen 
He ruthlessly cut them down. 

There was left in their places an only son 
Who thus heired much land and gold. 

That his parents left when their race was run 
For the lad to have and to hold. 

The boy was sober and used to toil, 

As became his father’s child; 

But he saw no reason his hands to soil 
And his friends abetted and smiled. 

He first took a wife, with agreeable mind, 
Likewise in form and face; 

Together agreeing, proceeded to find 
Happiness any place. 

They hunted this will o’ the wisp by day, 
Pursuing it also at night: 

Sometimes, in their ardor perceiving its sway 
For a moment, though soon out of sight. 

At last, much discouraged, they invoiced to see 
What their increase in knowledge would 
bring; 

They found, though they’d spent all their for¬ 
tune so free 

They, of value, received not a thing. 


AND OTHER POEMS 89 

With money all gone, they pleasure forgot, 
As a man he was never a shirk, 

So he donned overalls and rented a lot 
Then knuckled right down to hard work. 

His wife kept the house as neat as a pin. 

And cooked for her .husband to eat; 

She did not complain but was satisfied when 
She with kisses her husband would greet. 

With Happiness theirs, they rest in the eve, 
Contentment and pleasure has come 

To abide in their hearts and thus they receive 
Their reward in making a home. 


WHEN FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN 

I often think of “Riley” 

When he was at his best, 

When Autumn leaves are falling 

And the wind comes from the West, 
(When frost is on the punkin) 

And wild grapes on the vine 
Are hanging ripe and juicy, 

Just right to make good wine. 


90 


THE PASSING OP THE ILLINI 


I wonder if he ever 
Arose at four o’clock 
And after stirring up the fire 
Went out to feed the stock 
When frost is on the punkin 
And likewise on the shucks 
Of the corn he husked for feeding 
The horses, hogs and ducks. 


After harnessing the horses 
And milking several cows, 
Drawing water with a chain 
To slop the pigs and sows, 
When frost was on the punkin, 
And big holes in his gloves, 
Was his system full of poetry 
His voice meek as a doves? 


I wonder how he felt at night 
When the field work was done, 
He was obliged to do the chores 
After the setting sun— 

When frost was on the punkin, 
The woodshed bare of wood; 
Did he write a lot of verses 
Because he felt so good? 


AND OTHER POEMS 


91 


When he heard the turkey gobble 
That he'd fattened for the feast 
That he hoped to have Thanksgiving, 

But found his debts increased 
(When the frost was on the punkin) 

So he had to sell the bird— 

Were his thought’s chock full of sentiment 
That to him then occurred? 


AS YOU WERE 


A farmer of some fifty years, 
Possessed much land and flocks; 
He was a deacon in his church. 
Sedate and orthodox. 


With ways austere, he tried to guide 
His manly, youthful son, 

To follow fathers footsteps 
As fathers race was run. 

The boy, like other boys have been 
Since time was most remote, 

Was hard to gather in the fold— 

In fact he was a goat. 


92 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLlNl 


He loved to herd with other goats 
And danced in flippant glee, 

Lived in the present, never cared 
For ancient history. 

He sometimes let a wicked word 
Pollute his youthful lips, 

He walked outside the narrow way 
With jest and merry quips. 

The deacon counseled with his wife, 

To help their wayward son, 

For all his own words did no good 
When they were said and done. 

She, with a memory more clear, 
Remembered when a youth 
The father was a lively lad, 

Much like the son in truth. 

She said: “When you and I were young 
We loved to sing and dance, 

And Prudence oft away we flung 
By taking every chance.” 

Sometimes a word would pass your lips 
That certainly was bad, 

And often you did many things 
You would not tell your dad.” 


AND OTHER POEMS 


93 


So we will try, and do our best 
Before we’re ’neath the sod, 

We’ll ask the Lord to do the rest 
And put our trust in God. 

There is no moral to this tale 
It was not writ for fame, 

But to remind the older folks— 

While young, we’re much the same. 


FOOLS 

The fools are not all dead, 

They are scattered here and there, 
But, the places they are bred 
Are almost anywhere. 

Of course you're not a fool 
And strongly will condemn 
The nature of the mule 
That oft is found in them. 

You would not drive a car 
With throttle open wide 
When you are going far 
When other folks abide; 

No doubt you will take care 
When driving near a school, 
Although the way is clear 
You wouldn’t be a fool, 


94 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


A fool will take a chance 
To break a record made, 
Which other fools enhanced 
By seeming- unafraid; 

What one fool does for sport, 
Another does for gain, 

And often tell in Court, 

Of deeds, did while insane. 

So when upon the road 
For business or fun, 

Be careful of your load 
Or you may be undone. 
When driving ’round a curve 
Drive slowly and keep cool, 
Thus you the law observe 
When you may meet a fool. 


WHEN I WAS A BOY 

When I was a boy, I used to go 
On foot; it was a little slow, 

But then, I did not use the gas 
Boys step on, when they go so fast— 
When I was a boy. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


95 


When I was a boy, my ooots, when new, 
Were coppered toed, the top's were blue; 
I'd wear them till my toes would be 
Clear through the ends—came out to see— 
When I was a boy. 

When I was a boy, to Church I went 
And wondered what the preacher meant; 
He preached so long, I was so tired, 

I could not see why he was hired. 

When I was a boy. 

When I was a boy, I'd think and plan, 
What I would do when grown, a man; 

It seemed so long to wait and grow; 

But now, Time does not move so slow— 
Since I was a boy. 


BOLOGNA 

Bologna, that's my dogs name; 

He came to me a stray; 

He looked dejected and was lame, 
So, I just let him stay. 

His body’s long, his legs are short, 
He does real comicly cavort, 

For he’§ a good deal of a sport, 

Bologna, 


96 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


When first he came he was so poor 
That I could count his ribs; 

Now when I look at his contour 
I think they may be fibs, 

For he is fat and fine and sleek, 
He tries to talk, can almost speak, 
And he can run fast as a streak, 
Bologna. 


Some say with dachshund ancestors 
Bolognas’ blood is blended; 

Some say from pointers, some from curs 
He surely has descended; 

He ran a rabbit to a log, 

He flushed a pheasant in a bog, 

I guess, his breeding is just dog, 
Bologna. 


Bologna does not like to stay 
At home and keep the house; 

And any time I go away 
He goes on a carouse; 

He stays until he thinks I’ve come, 

Then runs to me and makes things hum, 
I ’spect he thinks he’s fooled me some, 
Bologna. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


97 


THE ’POSSUM 


When the ground-hog is a-holing 
Deep in his winter nest 
And persimmons are a-ripening 
Into their very best; 

When the ’coon has left his family 
And runs without a mate 
And the sly fox is watching 
For chickens out too late— 
Then’s the time to call Truebawler, 
To lead the noisy pack 
Of hunting hounds, at evening 
Across the swamp and back; 

And when you hear the music 
They are singing full and free, 
Your imagination wanders 
To the ’possum they will tree. 


A ’possum is the fattest 

When his fur is thick and fine; 
When frost is on persimmons 
And the sweet potato vine 
Has did its duty nobly 

And the Nancy Halls are dug 
And are lying in the cellar 
Beside the cider jug. 


98 , THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 

Then you go and get the 'possum 
The old hound surely treed 
And you rub his fur with ashes 
Till it has all been freed; 

You parboil and you bake him, 

And you baste him in the pan, 
Then with sweet potatoes, gravy, 
He is fit for kings, 0 man! 


THE CREATION 

(Danvin’s Theory) 

God made the Earth and Science tells 
Plain people how he did it. 

He made the Heaven's and the Hell’s 
The air, and thing’s amid it. 

He made the monkey and the man 
Who long has evoluted 
Till he has conformed to a plan 
God early instituted. 

God used an atom for his base 
And then the fittest atom 
Rolled himself 'round into a place 
To evolute verbatim. 

At first the atom took no pains 
Just rolled around at pleasure 
But later he evolved some brains, 

A tail, that was a treasure. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


99 


He bumped against an ancient log 
And grew some feet and finger’s— 
The time he was a pollywog 
Deep in his memory lingers— 

For he crawled out upon dry land 
And thought he was all hunky 
Until he found a great demand 
For man to be a monkey. 

Since then he has not changed so much 
This evoluting’s wearing 
To be a super-man is such 
Unsatisfying, tiring. 

So he will evolute no more 

Though he may oft get spunky 
And emulate the lions roar, 

The jackass, and the monkey. 


JUST A BOY 

Just a little bunch of trouble: 

Flesh and bone and blood and hair 
Yet, you know he is the double 
Of a boy who used to snare 
Dad in promises of fishing 

And would not forget the date, 
Though Mother was often wishing 
Fishing time, was not so late. 


100 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


Just a bunch of wiry muscle; 

Running, jumping everyway; 
Always ready for a tussle 
Always making errands play. 
Carries stove-wood in for Mother 
Drops it on the kitchen floor 
Slyly pinches little brother 

Just to hear him cry some more. 

Just a boy: you know he’s living 
’Round the corner everywhere, 
And ’tis folly to be giving 
Him a whipping—’tisn’t fair. 
He’s that younger generation 
And he will the rudder grip 
Of that good old ship—the Nation, 
When she makes another trip. 


SORGHUM MAKING TIME 

When the backbirds are a-chattering 
and flying all-around, 

When the scaly-barks and acorns 
are falling on the ground, 

When the summer work is ended 
and autumn has begun, 

And the sorghum cane is rip’ning 
beneath a hazy sun— 


AND OTHER POEMS 


101 


Then’s the time to put the lever 
on the old molasses mill. 

Calk the vat and patch the furnace 
in the shed up on the hill, 
Hitch the team onto the presses 
and squeeze the juicy sweet, 
And draw it through the boiler 
till its thick enough to eat. 


The steam arising densely 

spreads aroma through the air, 
The sweet and sticky ’lasses 

clings to everything that’s there, 
Your can is filled up carefully 
and all is clean and neat. 

But someway on the cushion 
you get a sticky seat, 

For ’lasses sure are sociable 
and a good deal like glue, 

And close as any brother 

you find they stick to you, 

But with pancakes, or hot biscuits 
They’re for anyone, a treat, 

Who has a good capacity 
and appetite to eat. 


102 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


RHAPSODY 

0 for my childhood back again, 

For a day or two at least; 

To rove at will, o’er dale and hill 
And my eyes on old scenes feast. 
My mem’ry dwells on flow’rs and fells 
Of the wildwood path so sweet 
Where oft Fve walked in friendly talk 
With those I now long to greet. 


Those days are past, will ne’er return, 
Though my heart may ache and ache; 
No more for me, I’ll never see 

The spring, that my thirst would slake; 
The cozy nook, the sparkling brook 

That flowed through the pasture hence, 
There I would be, young and care-free 
And climb through the old rail fence. 


Though I may sigh for days gone by, 

I love these days that are here; 
Almost three score, my steps are slow’r 
And my hair gray-streaked I fear. 
With mem’ry cast, on days long past, 
Which I then enjoyed with zest, 

I sit at ease, do as I please, 

And really, I like thefee best. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


103 


THE WEDDING MARCH 

The opening chords of “Mendelssohn’s,” 
Were sounding through the hall; 

The guest’s who there assembled, 

Were arranged along the wall; 

The Groom with trepidation 
Had marched and stood before 
The Parson; and his best man 
Had passed across the floor. 

Then, the quiet that pervaded 
The guest’s assembled there 
Was: broken by a whisper 
That seemed almost a prayer. 

For an angel, or a fairy 

In the door-way had appeared 
And caused the prayerful whisper, 

For our hearts were deeply stirred. 


There, all in white, she balanced 
Upon her tiny toes; 

Her dress, a filmy picture 
Of flounce and furbelows; 

Her left hand held a basket 
With buds just flowering, 

Her right hand held a rose-bud, 
In which reposed a ring. 


104 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


She walked across so silent 
And with a demure grace 
That made her seem ethereal 
And floating through the space. 
The Bride,—a winsome lady— 
Came, followed by her maid; 
The wedding march then ended 
That was so sweetly played. 


The service was repeated 

And soon they were made one 
And all congratulated 
The partner each had won. 

But we will all remember, 

Who love the flower’s of spring, 
The pathos and the beauty 
Of the child who bore the ring. 


NEVER GROW OLD 

’Tis writ and quoted, that the good die young, 
Before the evil of this world has time 
To fill with passion hearts and minds that 
sprung 

From a pure seed, akin to the sublime. 


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105 


Yet we may live to three-score years and ten, 
—The time allotted man to pass on earth— 
And still be young in heart, like we were when 
As children, all was pleasure, joy and mirth. 

0 may we shun that selfishness, that takes 
The bloom of youth away, and naught re¬ 
turns ; 

Give us that feeling love for others makes, 
Forgives the evil, and the good discerns. 

As little children let us always be, 

Thus may we enter in the heavenly fold 
To endless life and immortality; 

There we will never, nevermore grow old. 


THE POETRY OF LIFE 

Beautiful! the dawn is breaking, 
Sunbeams dart across the sky 
And all Nature is a-waking 
Now to life’s sweet subtlety. 

Beautiful at noontide, favored 
Are our lives from early morn 
And our rest is sweetly savored 
With a hope within us born. 


106 


THE PASSING OP THE ILLINI 


Beautiful! our sun is sinking 
Slowly past the farthest rim 
And our souls the dew is drinking, 
While the light is growing dim. 

Beautiful the Promise given 
From God’s Palace in the sky 
Of a Home with Him, in Heaven— 
Life Eternal, when we die. 

Beautiful is dawn and noontide 
And when ev’nings shadows fall 
The sweet hope that in us abides 
Is most beautiful of all. 


THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 

It used to be that the chestnut tree 
Was the place of the blacksmiths shop; 

It was there he sang, while his hammer bang 
Without a rest or stop; 

The sparks would fly, from the iron high, 

As the strokes on his anvil rung, 

And the blacksmith smiled, if he was not riled, 
While his children played and sung. 


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107 


Then the bellows blowed, the bright coals 
glowed, 

And the horse-shoes grew red-hot 
Or a rod was held, while he made a weld, 

For a wagon—like as not: 

Or in the fire, he would shrink a tire, 

For a buggy, or a cart— 

And all folks knew where credit grew, 

For the blacksmith had a heart. 


(The chestnuts fell, I am glad to tell, 

The jokesmith stood about, 

Or sat at ease, while he told a wheeze 
That Noah told no doubt; 

They filled the space, in the blacksmith’s place 
Until the setting sun, 

Made it quite plain, to Tubal Cain, 

That his days work was done.) 

Those days are past, that once we classed, 
Bright spots in a prosy life; 

We take the car, if we travel far 
With the children and the wife; 

The blacksmith reaps and never weeps, 

He has a splendid plan— 

With gas and oil, he mixes toil, 

For he is the garage man. 


108 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


THE SPIRIT OF TRANSPORTATION 

Someone, sometime, (’twas ages long ago,) 
Conceived the ways of moving were too slow; 
He called his dog and harnessed it to poles, 
Behind, sat on his tent, thus saved his tender 
soles 

And also moved much faster than his clan. 

He likewise proved the brain superior in the 
man. 


A neighboring clansman saw this drag by 
chance, 

While traveling through and o’er a wide ex¬ 
panse 

Of fallen timber; there took notice when the 
dog 

Passed with its load across a hollow log; 

It seemed much lighter, and it drew with ease, 

This load which, on the ground, was heavy, if 
you please. 


This savage used his brain, he wondered why 
A rolling log, so much advantage did imply. 
He through the small round hollow, thrust a 
stake, 

The ends projecting tied to poles, and thus did 
make 


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109 


A drag that pulled much lighter, and by this 
plan 

He hauled a heavier load and passed the other 
man. 


From this crude model was evolved the wheel¬ 
ed cart 

From which our modes of transportation had 
their start 

On land. On water, the dug-out or burnt-out 
canoe 

Was soon replaced by boats with sails, that 
when winds blew 

Transported men and commerce, by those sails, 
unfurled; 

Till steam-power changed the mode of trans¬ 
port of the World. 

Enlightened man now found that the electric 
spark 

Had other power than to make light in the 
dark. 

In fact, when ’twas controlled by human brain 
and hand. 

It is the greatest power known throughout the 
land 

Exploded by this spark, (when confined in small 
space) 

Light gasoline is now the wonder of the race. 


110 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


Thus driven, the aeroplane is forced to soar on 
high 

Swift as a bird, and sure, it flashes through 
the sky; 

To prove ’twas without limit, again man used 
his brain 

Till he evolved the motor-truck and motor- 
train ; 

Swift moves those motor-transports with com¬ 
mercial goods, 

Delivers grain and live-stock, and manufactured 
foods. 


Thus History reveals to us the time and way 

Our Transportation evoluted to this day; 

How, when the World was young, the savage 
took his store 

Within his arms, (’twas small, he cared for 
nothing more) 

Till Transportation came, and by her Spirit 
taught 

Man his duty—that labor, when combined with 
thought 


Accomplished all things needed. And the World 
has seen 

The race of man control all creatures, and the 
sheen 


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111 


Of Civilization shines throughout the favored 
land 

Where Progress and Transportation go hand in 
hand; 

But where the brain and hand have not im¬ 
proved their light, 

Men still are savages, and to the race a blight. 


MARCH WEATHER 

The South Wind blew a gentle breeze 
With Zephyrs wafted round; 

The buds were swelling on the trees 
And grass peeped from the ground. 
The March Lamb, shook his little tail, 
For he was not a sinner 
And took from mama without fail, 

His breakfast, lunch and dinner. 

And then the East Wind blew a gust 
Of dampish fog, and chilly, 

And then it rained, till streamlets bust 
Their staid banks, willy-nilly. 

The robin shrank behind a limb 
And tried to dry his feathers 
The early swallow did not skim 
The lake, ’twas awful weather. 


112 THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 

And then the West Wind howled in glee 
Its cyclones whirled and twisted, 

And turned full-grown tornadoes free 
That blew where e’er they listed. 

The windows rattled, roofs were raised, 
Earths population trembled, 

Or rushed about like they were crazed, 
Wherever they assembled. 

And then the North Wind blew a breath, 
Off Greenlands icy mountains; 

Borealis was cold as death 

And froze the streams and fountains. 
And then the four winds of the earth 
Would blow their best, together 
From first to last, there was no dearth 
Of typical, March weather. 


PESSIMISM 

We being human, may wish for the right 
With senses blunted by the things in sight. 
The human family will strive for gain 
With jealousy and envy ’most insane 
And if we kneel with open hands and say— 
“Take what you will and nothing need you pay” 
With great derision, men would crowd around; 
Despised and naked, leave us on the ground 
And say—“A fool is he for want of sense” 

And that would be our only recompense. 


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113 


The Golden Rule is changed, it now reads 
thus— 

“We do to others as they do to us” 

And then, to be quite sure that it will pay, 

If they don’t do us, do them anyway. 

When Adam fell from Edens heights sublime. 
The human race fell through the abyss of Time. 
So we must take our part to gain respect 
From those the Devil never will neglect, 

For they would surely squeeze us if they could 
As long as they can get a drop of blood. 


OPTIMISM 

’Tis a pleasure to live 
on an Illinois farm 

Where the soy-beans and sweet clover grow: 
’Tis a pleasure to rise 
at four in the morn 
And attend to lacteal flow— 

For the men in the country 
are anxious to raise 
The soy-beans and clover to feed 
The mild-eyed Holstein, 
whose milk he will praise 
In satisfied gladness, indeed. 


114 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


Tis a pleasure to garner 
the wheat and the oats 
That the freeze and the wet weather leave: 
Tis a pleasure to pay 
the mortgage and notes 
That the farmer is wont to achieve— 

For the men who live out 
in the wide open space 
Are free to do as they please 
And will freeze out 
and bum out with becoming grace 
When they have the farming disease. 


Tis a pleasure to purchase 
a bag full of bran 

For the price of the same weight in wheat: 
For Tis said that the City 
must live, and we can 
Furnish all of the cheap food to eat— 

It is God made the Country 
and man made the town 
And all in the City that is— 

Though we may go broke 
we are never cast down— 

And the City-man then will get his. 


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115 


LIMITED 


There’s a limit to the Wisdom 
Of Mortals here below; 

There’s an end to education 
In every way we know— 

But there are opportunities 
That we should never miss, 
Though to them there is a limit, 
We don’t know where it is. 


There’s a limit to the wonders 
Man may make upon the earth; 
There’s an end to all invention 
That in his brain has birth— 
But there are things to conquer 
Within this reach of his, 
Though to each there is a limit 
He don’t know where it is. 


There’s a limit to ability 
Of any human kind; 

There’s an end of all perfection 
Conceived in human mind— 
Yet we can be progressive 
And better ways may quiz, 
Though to them there is a limit, 
We don’t know where it is. 


116 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


We should strive to do our duty 
When we have done our best— 
Have fought our fight with honor, 
We will enter into Rest. 

There is happiness forever 
And we will realize 
The sacrifice of Jesus— 

In our Home beyond the skies. 


THE SALAD 

The ladies gave a luncheon 
To a very select few; 

While the piece de resistance 
Was not so very new 

And looked like a beef roast, 

When chewed it seemed to grow; 

But the salad was just lovely , 

The ladies all said so. 

! 

They hired a “chef de cuisine,” 
Whatever that may be; 

They drank from dainty tea-cups 
Sweet aromatic tea; 

But they were most interested 
And scarcely could let go, 

A very lovely salad, 

The ladies all said so. 


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117 


They ate in well-bred ecstacy, 

But eyed the salad dish 
While they ate recurring dainties 
Or nibbled at the fish; 

Did you say—“What salad was it?” 

I am sorry I don’t know; 

But I am sure, ’twas LOVELY, 

For the ladies all said so. 


MEMORIES 

Sweet as the fragrance of the rose 
Is memory of thee 

As in the glad hours of my life 
It comes to me. 

So sweet the pain I would not lose 
The memory of thy face: 

Or of thy form so dear to me— 
Embodied grace. 

In day-dreams oft thy silv’ry voice, 
Like music of a bird 

Trilling a song of love and joy, 
Sweet memories stirred. 


118 THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 

Do you remember when we met 
How loved leaped forth 
And twined its tendrils ’round our hearts 
And proved its worth? 

’Twas long ago, our silvering hair 
Proves to us Time 

Has crossed our path since I were yours 
And you were mine. 

But memory, tells us that our lives 
Were happy days spent here: 

And joyfully we hope to meet and live. 
Forever, THERE. 


MOTHER’S LOVE 

What love is near to that of God 
A Mother’s love; 

’Tis borne with her till ’neath the sod, 
A Mother’s love; 

Then, to her children who believe, 

Who often for their mother grieve, 
’Tis sweet to think we still receive 
Our Mother’s love. 


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119 


Dear Mothers; no one else can feel 
A Mother’s love; 

None to us make the same appeal 
As Mother’s love; 

Though we her patience oft may try 
And cause her heart in grief to cry. 

Her love for us is ecstacy; 

Our Mother’s love. 

0 Mother! is your heart still warm 
With mother love? 

And in me is there aught to charm 
My Mother’s love? 

Doest thou whil’st sitting in the light 
Of Jesus’ throne, in mansions bright 
Still love your child, with all his blight? 
0 Mother! Love! 


BEYOND THE GRAVE 

There’s a beautiful land 
that is promised to all 
Who believe in the Promise of God: 

There the children of Faith 
who have heeded His call— 

Will gather, through Christ’s precious blood. 


120 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


There, is joy and content 
and none to complain, 

No sickness nor death will betide: 

There, gladness will rule 
and Jesus will reign— 

God’s children will be satisfied. 

There, our hope is to go 
when our pilgrimage here 
Is passed in the day’s He has given: 

We are waiting in Faith 
without doubt or fear— 

To be called to our mansion in Heaven. 


VIRGINIA 

Virginia! pride of the South; 

Thy name is sweetest music coming from the 
mouth 

Of those that love thee; they cannot see 

Why other States could be compared to thee. 

Virginia! thou wast the first that haughty Eng¬ 
land deigned to think 

Might be worth her while, and on the rivers 
brink 

Her cavaliers,—younger sons of lords and earls 

Founded Jamestown—in Virginia—the pearl 
of the New World. 


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121 


Virginia! the Empire of Powhatan, that lordly 
king 

Of the forest; he who would proudly bring 

The Indian corn; there settlers learned to eat 

Corn-pone and mush and ash-cakes, with their 
meat. 

And later, when John Smith had learned to 
love and steal 

The Indian corn and grind it into meal— 

Powhatan’s daughter, Pocahontas, with eyes of 
flashing fire 

Put her soft arms around his neck and saved 
him from her father’s ire. 

Virginia! where our great Washington was 
born, 

The man whom England never could suborn, 

He led the colonists, with the Stars and Stripes 
unfurled 

And made them known, and loved, and feared, 
around the world. 

0 Virginia! my love for thee hath stronger ties 
than these, 

For it was in thy bosom my ancestors were nur¬ 
tured, if you please. 

My grand-sire and my great-grand-sire, as 
well as sires great-great, 

Were born, and lived, and loved, and suffered, 

in this State. 


122 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


I have the best of reasons to love and revere 
thee, when 

If thou hadst not been discovered—I might not 
have been. 


SUPPLY AND DEMAND 

There is much said, in ev’ry land, 

Of the supply and the demand. 

The economics’ teachers claim 
That this, is always in the game, 

And, if all would have cash in hand, 

Supply should equal,—the demand. 

How beautiful,—this theory; 

How pleasant, then this world would be; 
Then the millennium on earth 
Would come to millionaire and serf; 

Each human cog would work at will— 

For each Jack, there would be a Jill. 

But there are things we sadly fear, 

That will this sane condition queer. 

The middle classes—who produce, 

Use hands and brains; but what’s the use. 
If they’re possessed with solid brains— 

They will monopolize their gains. 


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123 


If only with their hands they work, 

They soon degenerate and shirk. 

Supply of these exceeds demand 
And spreads unrest throughout the land. 
We’re sure to rise, or we’ll descend; 
Which way we go, on us depends. 

When Time, for us makes the last stroke, 
We may be millionaires,—or broke. 


SENSE AND NONSENSE 


The farming man who tills the soil 
Acquires by years of honest toil 
A rough and calloused fist; 

He EDUCATES, his hopeful son 
To be,—when his degree is won— 
An Agriculturalist. 


He sends his daughter to the “High” 
To learn the things that now apply. 
Domestic Science know; 

She fills her brain with learn-ed lore 
And of things she knows less or more, 
Orates, like “Cicero.” 


124 THE PASSING OP THE ILLINI 

After they’ve “Finished” and applied 
Their learning- to the home fireside, 

They go again—to teach;— 

Now, Freddy is a man of brains, 

And from rough work his hand refrains, 
And Lucile,—Is a Peach.— 

The old folks hold the fort and sweat 
And all the money they may get 
Out of the farming biz; 

They send to Freddy and Lucile, 

They must support the COMMON WEAL, 
THEM, and THEIR THEORIES. 


THE SCHOOL MA’AM 


SHE is chic and she is pretty, 

In her conversation, witty; 

Her voice is sweet as candy, 

Her aspect is demure; 

She will look at you once over 
Deciding she’s in clover 

And perhaps you may be handy, 
Makes her position sure. 


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125 


She then tries to do her duty 
To her pupils, and her beauty 
Is wonderfully soothing 

To the callow youth in school; 

But her manner is quite proper 
And she puts a sudden stopper 
To his bashful courting—proving 
That she is not a fool. 

She works with some misgiving, 

Fears that she is barely living, 

Thinks her salary inadequate, 

In truth she’s in distress; 

But her intent in teaching 
Is to bridge a chasm—reaching 

To a home where she her rights will state 
And without question bless. 


THE STENOGRAPHER 

She is at her desk and ready, 
Her hands are sure and steady, 
Her poise is not too heady, 

She admiration wakes; 

She is never soporific, 

Her fingers are prolific 
Writing hieroglyphic 

When she dictation takes. 


126 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


She writes for you demurely, ‘ 
She uses English purely 
And strikes the keys as surely 
As daylight follows night; 
She knows what is expected 
And works as she’s directed 
With energy reflected 

By ev’ry one in sight. 

If you ask her to advise you, 
Her perception will surprise you, 
Although she never tries you 
By offering advice; 

With careful preparation, 

And dignified elation 
She fills her situation, 

The stenographer is nice. 


THE AGITATOR 

One time he was a mining man 
And worked deep in the ground 
Where no sunlight penetrated 
And black diamonds are found. 
He worked eight hours for a boss 
At seven dollars per, 

But said he earned more money 
And the world was out of gear. 


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127 


One day he quit and hired to 
A business garage; 

He got a dollar ev’ry hour 
The auto’s he’d massage, 

But he did not like the labor, 

The grease was worse than coal 
And neither carried an appeal 
To his aesthetic soul. 


So he hired to a farmer, 

The wages wer’nt so high 
But he was fed on ham and eggs 
Enough to satisfy 
His stomach, and he could commune 
With nature ev’ry day 
And repeat the “Coue” formula— 

“I am better ev’ry way.” 


But here he soon concluded 

That the man who owned the land, 
Was the man who made the money 
And not the hired hand; 

It took no brains to run a farm, 

The hired man must toil 
While the owner rolls in money 
He produces from the soil, 


128 THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 

So he bought himself a little farm 
And planted it in truck; 

It did not take him long to find 
That he was badly stuck, 

His gas and coal and labor bills 
Were larger than his crops, 

And when a man loves money, 

His love for farming stops. 

On a bench he sat and studied 
The course he would pursue, 

For any job he undertook 
Had so much work to do. 

He knew the world was out of joint 
And in an awful fix, 

So he took to agitating, 

And to this job he sticks. 


WHEN YOU AND I WERE BOYS 

Some years ago, when you and I 
Were little boys together, 

Just sleighs and sleds were passing by 
In snowy, winter weather. 

We coasted down the steep hill-sides, 
And unsurpassed the joys— 

That in our memory abides— 

When you and I were boys. 


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129 


The snows were deeper then, we know 
They winter long, kept falling; 

Then, colder winds would always blow. 

As we are oft recalling. 

We warmed, before an open fire 
That with a crackling noise, 

Sent brilliant sparks up chimney spire— 
When you and I were boys. 

Out in the wind, we milked the cows, 
(The memory with me lingers) 

Then we would rush into the house 
And thaw our frosted fingers. 

We ate corn-bread, three times a-day; 

It gave us strength and poise; 

We had to eat it anyway— 

When you and I were boys. 


READY FOR WINTER 

When the autumn leaves are turning 
to red and golden hues 
And the pawpaws are a ripening 
along the Shoal Creek sloughs, 
When the possum is a-rambling 
in the old persimmon trees 
And the rabbit is a-waving 
his cotton in the breeze— 


130 THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 

0, ’tis then a fellows spirits 
are soaring light as air 
And he has a friendly feeling 

that his neighbors with him share; 
That it’s good to be a-living 
though the world be full of sin, 

With cider in the cellar 
and apples in the bin. 

When the scaly-barks are falling, 
a-hulling on the ground, 

When the walnuts and the butternuts 
are scattered all a-round, 

When the hazelnuts are gathered 
and laid away to dry 
And you smell the sweet aroma 
of the squash and pumpkin pie, 

0, ’tis then your blood a-rushing 
through your arteries and veins 
Makes your cheeks with roses blushing, 
clears the cobwebs from your brains, 
Then you forget your troubles 
for joy you feel within, 

With cider in the cellar 
and apples in the bin. 

When you retire at evening 
to a warm and cozy bed, 

And you lie half-way a-dreaming, 
soft pillows ’neath your head, 


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131 


And you hear the old hound baying 
as he trails a wary coon, 

While the great horned owls are hooting 
at the brightly shining moon, 

O, ’tis then that you are thankful 
that your worries all are o’er 
For your life-insurance policy 
is maturing more and more. 

Your mortgage is a-mortizing 
your interest paid in, 

There’s cider in the cellar 
and apples in the bin. 


When you hear the quail a-whistling 
in the Stubblefield at morn, 

When you feed the steers and porkers 
on alfalfa hay and corn, 

Then break your fast on spare-ribs 
and juicy sausage cakes, 

With apple and peach butter 
and bread that mother bakes. 

0, ’tis then your heart is swelling 
with gratitude and pride 
Then you love your country better 
for you are satisfied, 

And you know that you are living 
in a good place to live in 
With cider in the cellar 
and apples in the bin. 


132 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


THE BANKERS’ CREED 

Love thy Country and her laws 
The foundation and the cause 
Of all money that is coined; 

See that it is not purloined. 

Love thy County, make it great, 
Advertise it through the State, 

For the higher it may rank 
Swells- deposits in the Bank. 

Love thy City, in it lies 
Social progress and home-ties; 
Make yourself respected here, 

Keep your reputation clear. 

Love the office-holder, who 
Banks the public funds with you; 
They will help to swell assets 
And more business surely gets. 

Love the borrower, but see 
Each one gives security; 

Gilt-edge be collateral; 

Payment must be prompt. It shall. 

Love thy neighbor—for alone 
Little worth has all you own; 

But of all you love, be frank, 

Put your great love in your bank. 


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133 


RECONSTRUCTION 

We have danced and did not weary, 
We have sang till we are hoarse; 
The fiddler will not tarry 
And must be paid of course; 

We cannot turn the clock back, 

That will not pay the bill, 

Pleasure, left us to hold the sack 
But tvork will fill the till. 


THE INDEPENDENT FARMER 

Money! can you make it on the farm? Why 
sure— 

There are many ways to make it; the farm has 
more allure 

(For the one who’s independent and wants to 
keep good health) 

Than an office in a city, where the only ob¬ 
ject’s wealth. 

When you begin a-farming, do not try to make 
it all 

The first year you are on the farm, or you may 
have a fall; 

For the money made a-farming, is slowly gath¬ 
ered in, 

But none the less quite surely, for those who 
would begin. 


134 THE PASSING OP THE ILLINI 

Like any other business, you have to plan and 
work; 

For you cannot make money at anything and 
shirk 

Responsibilities that rest upon your brain and 
brawn; 

And pass the “buck” to others and let them 
pass it on. 


And in the winter when the snow lies deep upon 
the ground, 

You feed the stock and do your chores and do 
not hear a sound 

Of anything complaining, then into bed you 
creep. 

Forget the world and close your eyes and sleep 
and sleep and sleep. 


The man who loves the country, the woods and 
open fields, 

Who gladly stirs the fertile soil, will find that 
nature yields 

A bounteous crop to them who do their part 
and wait, 

For everything will come to them before it is 
too late. 


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136 


JOE AND ME 

Joe is an office man at home, 

His business seldom lets him roam 
The fields and woods with dog and gun, 
And hunt for rabbits when they run. 

But when chance offers we will go, 

Just Joe and me, me and Joe. 

We love to be together for 
We do not care to hurry nor 
Shoot too quick, and sometimes we 
Will watch a rabbit till we see 
Him out of sight, just watch him go, 
That’s Joe and me, me and Joe. 

We breathe the air with joy untold, 

We see the leaves of red and gold, 

The brown grass, sometimes spots of green, 
The glistening dew with sunlights sheen, 
As onward o’er the hills we go, 

Just Joe and me, me and Joe. 

We belong to different churches 
But we have the same religion. 

We believe in the same Savior, 

And we trust that our behavior . 

Shows to others that may see 
That we have a hope of Heaven, 

Hope our sins are now forgiven, 

There we will be pure and shriven, 

Joe and me. 


136 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


THE COUNTRY MEETING HOUSE 

There’s a white meeting- house, in the edge of a 
wood, 

That when built was a place where forest trees 
stood; 

It is small and old-fashioned, with seats of 
white- pine, 

But when ’twas erected, folks thought it was 
fine. 


’Tis the church where our fore-fathers, dress¬ 
ed in their best; 

Would attend long ago to pray and to rest 

While they listened to sermons by preachers 
devout, 

Who preached with such feeling their hearers 
would shout. 


Then large congregations would come; they 
would walk, 

They came, in farm-wagons with chatter and 
talk; 

A few rode in buggies, with half-hidden pride 
That others would notice and often deride. 


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137 


But all went to meeting, for all felt the good 

That the little church did, in the edge of the 
wood. 

They felt, that on Sunday, they ought to God 
praise, 

For His goodness and mercy upon the week 
days. 


In the church-yard adjacent, the graves of the 
men 

And the women are crowded who went to 
church then; 

There our fore-fathers rest, they did what they 
could 

While they lived, for the church in the edge 
of the wood. 


1S8 THE PASSING OF THE ILLIN1 

FATHER 

FATHER was born in ’thirty twb, 
Then all this country ’round was new 
His opportunities were few, 

There was no District School; 
Father was educated in 
Adversity, but not in sin, 

And this determined him to win, 

To work , was fathers rule. 


He was a man who knew himself, 

And would not lie for sake of pelf. 
Feared neither Hobgoblin or Elf, 

But did what he thought right; 
Believed what Davy Crockett said— 

“Be sure you’re right, then go ahead,” 
Among the living, not the dead, 

For your own, you must fight. 


Father believed that men should live 
Upright and honorably and give 
The best in them to God unrive, 

For He created them; 

He said, “We owe to Him our best. 
Our lives here—There eternal rest, 
With this sweet hope I am possessed 
And willingly trust Him. 


AND OTHER POEMS 139 

Father desired in life to be 
Respected, the community 
His walk in life could see, 

No hidden path he trod; 

He loved lifes morning and youths cheer 
In his old age he felt no fear, 

When he was called away from here 
His trust was all with God. 

Father when Death summoned said, 

“My Hope now smooths my dying bed, 
Though I the King of Terrors dread, 

I do not fear to go; 

I wish to by my fathers’ sleep 
And may my sons’ close to me keep 
Their mortal bodies, do not weep 
For God has willed it so. 


My life has lingered four-score years 
Of happiness, though mixed with tears, 
Why should I now conjure the fears 
Of Purgatory—Hell, 

If I could live my life again 
It would not change, for it is plain 
That man lives on the Human plane— 
With God, all things is well” 


140 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


THE MEN OF 1776 


All Hail! the men of Seventeen Hundred Sev¬ 
enty-six, 

Our Ancestors; we think of them with glow¬ 
ing pride, 

They left their homes, without a speech prolix, 
And for this country, fought, and bled, and 
died. 


Untrained were they, with ragged clothes, and 
poorly armed 

Their crops were wasted and their children 
lacked for food; 

But with their hearts on freedom set, they un¬ 
alarmed, 

Went forth, and trusted God, the giver of all 
good. 


For eight long years they fought and worked, 
and fought, 

The promises of pay, infrequently redeemed; 
But with pure grit, they with their bone and 
sinews bought 

The Liberty whose light e’er since upon the 
World has beamed. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


141 


God rest their souls, bright may their names 
forever shine 

Upon the scroll of fame, and may we who 
are here 

Uphold our Nation’s honor, (it is yours and 
mine). 

Our Fathers gave it to us, undefiled, and died 
without a fear. 


DESTINY 

We love to say, “All men are free 
And equal”, in the States; 

Our systems have this ego 
And it our pride inflates 
To try to think, an equal chance 
All people have we know. 

But in our inmost being, we 
Are sure this isn’t so. 

Our Destiny controls us 

From the moment of our birth; 
Though every one must labor, 

A few will rule the earth 
And the inhabitants thereof; 

A few control the cash, 

That lubricates, and thus prevents 
A cataclysmal smash. 


142 THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 

Some men are born for rulers, 

And make themselves obeyed; 

While others will sit silently 
With nervous dread, afraid. 

They do not have ability 

Within their torpid brain, 

To think with reason how to live, 
And only do complain. 

Some born within the purple 
Will in the gutter die; 

And some, born in the gutter 
Will rise to be most high. 

Some think we all might be alike 
At birth were all at par, 

But lives of millions prove to us, 
We are just what we are. 

We are born free and equal, 

By law, we are free men; 

And we are equal inasmuch 
As we are helpless then; 

But Destiny will lead us through 
This life though low or high. 

We are only free and equal, 

At birth and when we die. 


148 


AkD OTHER POEMS 
THE CALL OF THE WILD 


I long to leave the city 

With its worry and its work, 
The woods to me are calling 

And the life that in them lurk; 
With my vacation nearing 
I am happy as a child, 

With my heart and brain responding 
To the calling of the wild. 


In my mind, I hear the chatter 

Of the gray and yellow squirrel; 

I hear the quail a-whistling 

And their wings around me whirl. 
I hear the pheasant drumming, 

And the cooing of the dove; 

The calling of the wild things 
Is the call I always love. 


I can see the timid rabbit 
A-playing hide-and-seek, 

And in the silence of the night 
I hear the hoot-owls shriek. 

I see the red fox dig his hole, 

The ground hogs on the hill, 

And in the evening hear the cadence 
Of the lonesome whip-poor-will. 


144 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


There are pleasures in the wild-wood 
I can never hope to find 
In a close and stifling city 

Filled with only human kind. 
For all nature there is working 
On the same idylic plan, 

As it used to work in Eden, 

Before the fall of man. 


THERE’S GOOD IN ALL 

Two men had long lived neighbors 
In a little country town; 

One, known for his kind labors, 

Had gained well-earned renown 
As a righteous man and brother 
Who would ill of no one speak. 
When ill-treated by another 

He some excuse would seek. 

The other was a wicked man, 

Who always had a quarrel; 

On friendliness he put a ban 
Met others with a snarl, 

He saw no good in anything, 

Men’s deeds were always bad, 
Opinions wrong on everything, 

This surly neighbor had. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


145 


At last this man was called and went 
To receive his reward; 

His neighbors argued he was sent 
Where he would not retard 
The crowds upon the golden streets. 
Nor join the heavenly choir 
And with St. Peter’s angels 
He would not strum a lyre. 


His friendly neighbor, called to see 
If anything he lacked, 

To make his passing as should be, 

His good-will was a fact; 

He viewed the corpse with friendly eye, 
On casket placed a wreath, 

And said: “My friend and brother 
Had a splendid set of teeth.” 


146 


THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 


THE SPAN OF LIFE 

WE ARE BORN to populate the earth 
Of countless millions we are one, 

We do not feel the agony of birth 

Nor realize the change when it is done. 

WE BREATHE and Life leaps in our veins. 
Our brain expands and thought appears, 

We grow in strength till power attains 

The senses that the human loves and fears. 

WE SUFFER much, with hearts inured to pain 
Grieve over those who tread the downward 
path 

That flower bordered led and lead again 
To the most sad and bitter aftermath. 

WE MOURN for those that we have loved and 
lost; 

A father, mother, or perchance a friend 
Who stood with us and did not count the cost, 
But loved us with a great love till the end. 

AND WE DIE, we soon round out the span 
God gave us here, and then before His face 
We stand in judgment, He will judge each man 
And for Eternity, will name his place. 


AND OTHER POEMS 


147 


THE LAST WORD 


It is commendable to write 

A message that may bring 
Pleasure to others, day or night 
And cause someone to sing. 

If you have read this volume through 
And found no reason why 
It was of interest to you 

The message can’t apply. 

Hope springs eternal and I trow 
Our spirits’ now will blend 
The last word must be writ you know 
And here it is— 


THE END. 




AND OTHER POEMS 


149 


THE INDEX 

The Passing- Of The Illini .... 9 

The Old Home ... 15 

Eastertide ......... 16 

To My Mother ........ 16 

Woman .....„.,u>.;... 17 

Irene ........ 18 

The College At Greenville .... 19 

Our ‘Country . 20 

The Daughters Of 1812 .... 21 

Success __:....... 22 

The Farmers Dream ..... 23 

The Community Club ..... 24 

Speak No Evil .... 25 

Christian Association .. 26 

Indian Summer ..... 27 

The Beautiful, And True ..... 29 

My Creed ............ 30 

George Washington ...... 31 

Abraham Lincoln . 33 

Our Heritage .,... 34 

The Man Who Is Always Behind . 36 

A Pastoral ...... 37 

English Joe ._. 38 

The Dead Past _1......... 42 

The Old Road Through The Timber . 43 

We Took The Children .... 45 

Not A Candidate ...... 47 

Radio ...*.-. 49 

Ours . 50 

Contentment ... 50 

In Illinois .-.-... 52 

Unknown Graves .. 54 

Gratis Dictum .-... 55 

What He Was . 56 




































150 THE PASSING OF THE ILLINI 

The American Legion . 57 

Plant Trees ........i.... 59 

Our Soldier Dead ...ai..; — —*.•— 60 

Armistice Day . 62 

The Old Scythe Tree .—64 

The Memorial Tablet .—..- 65 

When The Clouds Roll By . 66 

Our Thanksgiving Prayer . _. 67 

Thanksgiving Time . 69 

Christmas ........- 71 

Hope . *. 72 

The “Spell” Of The “Spell Of The Yukon” ...* 73 

Tom Higgins .„..... 76 

Black Hawk . 79 

Keokuk . 80 

Cahokia, Or Monk’s Mound .*.1... 81 

The Passing Show ....... 83 

Theodore Roorevelt . 85 

Woodrow Wilson . 86 

Cheer Up . 86 

Happiness .......... 87 

When Frost Is On The Punkin ... 89 

As You Were .,........ 91 

Fools . 93 

When I Was A Boy .... 94 

Bologna . 95 

The ’Possum ... 97 

The Creation . 98 

Just A Boy... 99 

Sorghum Making Time . 100 

Rhapsody . 102 

The Wedding March ............_ 103 

The Poetry Of Life .105 

The Village Blacksmith . 106 

The Spirit Of Transportation.*....„.. 108 

March Weather .. Ill 






































AND OTHER POEMS 


151 


Pessimism . 112 

Limited . 115 

Optimism .............. 113 

The Salad . 116 

Memories . 117 

Mother’s; Love .. 118 

Beyond The Grave ..... 119 

Virginia .. 120 

Supply And Demand . 122 

Sense And Nonsense...:. 123 

The School Ma’am ..... 124 

The Stenographer . 125 

The Agitator . 126 

When You And I Were Boys . 128 

Ready For Winter . 129 

The Banker’s Creed ......... 132 

Reconstruction .:. 133 

The Independent Farmer . 133 

Joe And Me . 135 

The Country Meeting House . 136 

Father ......r,... 138 

The Men Of 1776 ..... 140 

Destiny ..1....-.... 141 

The Call Of The Wild .. 143 

There’s Good In All . 144 

The Span Of Life .. 146 

The Last Word .. 147 


























































